Mechanical Tyranny: Love and War
by TealDragonsUnite
Summary: A traitor by any other name is still a traitor. A former Jolly Wrench went AWOL for his lover... and his past is about to catch up to him. It's not gonna be pretty for anyone. Dabbles into concepts of the rights of AI. (Multi-crossover; branches off of events in Internal Errors and Conflict.) NEW SHORT STORY ADDED.
1. Prologue

**For those that have been following this series, you're not seeing double. This has been posted before.**

 **It's beginning of more than one story - the previously uploaded story, Conflict, followed Tera.** **Love and War will be following Foxtrot and Clara.**

 **Chapter one of this story will be posted when the entirety of First Contact has been uploaded, so look out for that ;)**

 **Prologue**

It was night. Easily midnight, though it was possibly one or two in the morning. Foxtrot didn't know… all he knew was that it was dark out, which meant sleep. Not bright lights shining in every window and sirens blaring outside. And they seemed to be coming closer.

Unable to look out a window to see what was going on, he rolled to the hangar door and cracked it open slightly, not even enough to stick his nose outside. Dark-painted military vehicles were everywhere, surrounding the building and probably trying to secure it. It was a miracle that they hadn't seen him open the door in the first place. Or maybe they had and just weren't saying anything.

Making as little noise as possible, he went back to where he and Clara were sleeping, nudging the other plane slightly. "Hey. Claire. You really gotta wake up… there's people outside…"

Groggy eyed, she hardly registered the sirens outside the hangar. "Nuughhmmm…Foxtrot, it was just a dream." Settling lower on her landing gear, she then fell right back asleep.

"...no, it's not," Foxtrot said, nudging her again. "I'm trying to figure something out, but we really _are_ surrounded. Come on, wake up!" Trying to look out the windows again, he realized that the lights had to have been coming from all angles. No way to escape… but the whole town was also probably up by now. Unless they were like Clara, anyways.

"CHRISTOPHER DARNELL! COME OUT UNARMED WITH YOUR WINGS FOLDED!"

"Oh… shoot… Claire, please, please get up..." the F-18 almost winced at the sound of his legal name, but also at the fact that it wasn't just a coincidence. He didn't even have a plan yet.

The sound of the yelling was enough to snap Clara out of it somewhat. "Foxy, what's going on? What's happening?" For the first time she noticed the lights and the noise. Confusion was the only thing running through her computers.

"...you remember when I said I wasn't going to leave you to go back to the Flysenhower?" He was just glad _she_ wasn't the one in danger. He was trained for situations like this… he'd probably come up with something on the spot.

"YOU HAVE THIRTY SECONDS TO SURRENDER!"

Clara cast a vicious glare towards the lights flashing through the window. "They're gonna make you surrender by force or with dignity, but I'm not gonna let you go out there alone. No use arguing. It's both of us or neither."

"No getting in the middle of it. I don't know what they'd do if someone decided that you were guilty, too," he said. He already knew he was toast, but he went to the hangar door and opened it anyways. He wasn't going down without a fight. "Just because a guy goes on VACATION doesn't mean there should be an entire army busting down his door in the middle of the night!"

"You're under arrest for desertion, and therefore treason, of the Government."

Foxtrot couldn't even pinpoint where the voice was coming from. It didn't matter, though. "You didn't even get the right plane! I don't even know who this Chris guy is, but whoever he is I REALLY don't like being mistaken for him." Going as close as he could to the perimeter set up around the hangar, he glared at the vehicles on the other side. "If you hadn't noticed, I'm actually Romeo. Oh wait, you can't tell. WE ALL LOOK THE SAME!"

"Foxtrot!" Clara scolded, stopping in front of him, "You're accomplishing nothing!" Turning on the government with teeth bared, she snarled. "If you're gonna take my husband, then you'd better be taking me as well! For one, he's committed no crimes, and for two, ya'll should be ashamed. Waking the whole town up in the middle of the night! You could've at LEAST done this during the day! You stupid, inconsiderate fools." It didn't help that she was still half asleep and beyond confused, she just wanted to attack the crowd, yet for some reason she didn't understand, the fact they were government made her refrain.

Foxtrot almost snarled at Clara for making such a proposition. "If they arrest you because you just said that-" he hissed, keeping a watch on the border out of instinct.

A forklift rolled close to the perimeter, giving an order something along the lines of "Scan them," before a bright blue light fell on the two planes for a split second, blinking off before they even realized what happened. It took a moment, but a verdict was reached. "The other one's standard, mostly. We've no need of it yet. Just take what we came for."

"Don't you DARE take Foxtrot away from me! Don't you DARE!" She snarled and snapped at the vehicles near her, yet it was impossible to beat away any of them for long. Words couldn't describe her anger... no... not anger, but instinct. It was the strongest thing controlling her, simply to keep Foxtrot near her just one more minute.

Foxtrot managed to get in front of Clara before she actually ended up hurting someone, trying as hard as he could to keep himself from doing the same. "Look, I'm gonna find a way out of this. I've been in worse situations… just a couple weeks and I swear on my life I'll be back here." Out of the corner of his eye, he could see a transport aircraft sitting on the runway. This wasn't some freak dream. He didn't want to leave Clara, but if he resisted he'd have even less of a chance to be released. Not that he had one. He felt something lock his wings in the folded position they were already in, his wheels moving against his will, away from the plane he loved. "YOU CAN'T DO THIS TO ME!" he yelled, trying to refrain from growling or even biting, even though he strongly considered it… in all reality, though, he couldn't stop them.

Clara leapt forwards, "FOXTROT!" She was about to attempt to fight through the government people, but even she realized the impossibility of the thought.

"Don't fight them, Claire..." the F-18 said, even though he knew she couldn't hear him. The moment she hurt one of Them would be the moment he was sure to never see her again. They'd make sure of it. However, Foxtrot himself didn't have much to lose. Slamming his brakes as hard as he could, he managed to stop his own movement and whip around to look back at her one last time, sending a forklift or two flying in the process. A couple vehicles were already trying to hold Clara back as others tried to keep Foxtrot on the path to the transport airplane, though he was quick to knock another one of them on their side. He grinned devilishly. Causing pain to the enemy was always fun. "I'LL BUST OUTTA THIS PLACE, DON'T WORRY!"

Clara couldn't even figure out what to say. She was too frightened and far too angry to know what to do. Without military training, she didn't have the strength or skills to fight, but at the same time she could hardly move to run away. Processors on the fritz, there wasn't a thought she could sort out. Even emotions seemed to leave as Foxtrot was slowly led to the transport plane.

At that point, Foxtrot had turned off his emotions completely just to keep himself sane. For once in his life, he didn't know what to do. If his wings hadn't been locked, he'd have made a run for it already. He couldn't. He couldn't even look back at Clara again without realizing all the damage he'd caused. It was for his own selfish reasons that he was an outlaw, and now his wife was paying the price. He couldn't stand it.

It only took a moment for the F-18 to find himself moving up the ramp of the prison bus, some mechanism taking hold of his back wheels and pulling him up rather than allowing him to go willingly; he could already feel a pipeline draining him of what little fuel he had left. The massive doors in front of him slammed shut, engines roaring around him as the plane took off. _Getting out of this might take longer than a couple weeks..._


	2. Chapter 1

He was practically dragged into a lab station, and though he didn't try very hard to resist, they still locked his wheels in place. Foxtrot didn't like where this was going. He thought he'd be in jail. Court-martialled. Now he felt more like a captive test subject.

Analyzing the situation from every angle possible, there was no way out. There hadn't been a way out since they'd loaded him onto the transport plane. Tools were placed in neat rows on one side of the room, at least five computer screens in the wall. They displayed diagrams of his model, all of them labeled something along the line of "PROJECT FOXTROT: DARNELL."

"What the heck is going on?!" he practically yelled, not expecting anyone to answer him. Shouldn't there be a jury? A court? _Anyone_?

He was right, though. No one would communicate with him directly. Someone put a ramp to his side and began to disconnect where his helmet was positioned. He stood taller on his landing gear, trying to put his cockpit out of reach. "If someone would talk to me and explain what's happening, I might cooperate," he snarled, trying to figure out how to unlatch himself from the floor.

"He's resisting. You two get restraints over his wings." And they thought Foxtrot couldn't hear them. He concluded right then that the three vehicles in question were dying first. Then he was escaping. He needed to get back to Clara before she decided to do something crazy, if she hadn't already.

The words of the leader of the team that captured him still echoed in his mind. _The other one's standard, mostly… we have no need of it yet. Just take what we came for._ What was so special about him? And, more importantly… what would they use Claire for? He had to get out before anything of the sort was even a possibility. He could get her to a place where the government wouldn't be able to follow. If such a place existed, anyway.

Someone threw a thick strap over his right wing, then his left; it was moments before he was forced practically to the ground. He hadn't kept his thoughts on escaping, and he mentally cursed himself out for it. He struggled against the additional restraint, the cold white room fueling his anger as he fought. The forklift from before went back to getting his helmet off, which was done relatively quickly… and they opened his cockpit, which a complete breach of personal space even in a situation like this. No one opened a plane's cockpit. Ever.

"You wanted someone to talk to you?" someone else said, a forklift driving into Foxtrot's field of vision.

Foxtrot didn't like this forklift. It was instinctive… he already hated her and he didn't even know who she was. He continued to fight regardless. "Put my helmet back on. Now."

"You committed treason against your squadron, Fox. It was only a matter of time, but there's only two options for planes like you when you're caught. You and I both got lucky… if the government didn't need you, you'd have to be deactivated, but your programming is way too valuable for that… some have said you're almost at the level of the infamous Project 36. And now that your first field test is done, we can use you for something other than research!"

"I'm NOT an experiment. I never did anything to anyone. I left because-"

"You fell in love," the forklift finished for him. "I figured you'd be a flirt all your life. We almost took her with us, too, but there wasn't enough room in the transport craft for both of you."

"How the heck do you even know?" Foxtrot could feel cables being connected to his internal processors. He couldn't fight it. He attributed the sick feeling in his tank to a lack of fuel. "Why do you want Claire?"

She ignored the first question, much to the plane's annoyance. "Don't worry about that. She'll be in good hands, and you'll probably see her again... I'll put in a good word for you, at least…"

"If you so much as TOUCH her I'll tear you apart!"

"...I don't think you will, Fox. I'm sorry, but… this has to be done." The forklift went back over to a control panel, flicking a couple switches and turning a dial slightly.

Instantly Foxtrot realized what the cables were for. Words flashed through his vision in bright red: FULL SYSTEM RESET INITIATED. He opposed it as best as he could, eventually beginning to shut down the command, but as soon as he did, it grew stronger. An electric surge flooded his databanks with an even greater force, trying to rid him of any thoughts he held onto. "Countermand it! STOP!" he cried out in desperation, his voice having lost any remnant of being human-like. He gritted his teeth in sheer effort to stay awake, the only thing he held onto being of Clara. He had to survive for her. Static filled his perception. _Claire… Claire… I love Claire,_ he kept telling himself, using the words as an anchor.

 _I promised._

The forklift threw another switch.

 _SYSTEM RESET COMPLETE._


	3. Chapter 2

Fox didn't understand it. It wasn't that he didn't understand his mission - that much was clear - but he figured They would've used someone designed to spend their whole life flying over land. He needed to be on a _ship_. Over the _ocean_. Not going to a tiny landlocked town to see how many vehicles They would be able to train up for combat. In all actuality, it didn't even matter the model - they just couldn't be corrupt… which, he had to admit, might very well be the possibility. He already had to be on the lookout for a couple noted traitors in this town alone.

Slowing himself from the supersonic speed he was originally travelling, he could already see the small airport in the distance. "This is Foxtrot 117 contacting Propwash Junction Tower, correct?"

There was silence on the other end of the radio for a minute. "Go ahead, Foxtrot." The tone was almost informal… like they knew him already. Small towns sometimes.

"About time. Requesting permission to land."

"Cleared for the main runway."

"Thank you," he replied quickly, lining himself up with the tarmac and touching down as flawlessly as possible… with the exception of the ending. Too short of a landing strip for him to stop properly, he almost fell over the edge. All he could do was hope no one saw him and move on. But it seemed like just about everyone saw him… quite a few vehicles were staring at him already. Fox growled a little, getting off the runway and hoping he wouldn't be in the general limelight for too long. He supposed most of the residents had probably never really seen a fighter jet before. Maybe he was just weird to them.

"Foxtrot!" a voice nearly screamed out. A plane, silver white with blue, swirling markings, rushed towards him. "Foxtrot… where have you been..?" She looked filled with relief, with worry, with pain, with the feeling of being abandoned. Tears were forming at the corners of her windscreen… as if she somehow knew him.

"And you are...? I don't know how you got my callsign right, but I think you're confusing me with someone else." He did make note of how close the plane was to being a fighter… but for whatever reason she had a propeller. Odd. Was she a mix-breed of some sort?

She backed away a bit. "I'm Clara… you remember… right?"

"No, I've never met anyone by that name. And, attractive as you are, I'm only here for government business. They're looking to build an even bigger army than they already have."

Clara backed away again, but this time with an almost horrified look. "Foxy… what did they do to you?"

"...nothing that I know of?" He folded his wings, somewhat confused. This plane was really set on the fact that she knew him. She didn't. There was no way she could… but at the same time he felt drawn towards her. Now was not the time to make a move, though. He had to stay at least somewhat professional… until he weeded out the traitors, anyways. From what his files said, she wasn't one, but it didn't hurt to be careful. "And don't call me Foxy. If you want a nickname, Fox works. Hey… you wouldn't know the whereabouts of a red-and-silver Jaguar, would you?" Information was information, regardless of where he got it from. Maybe she could help.

Clara stared blankly at Foxtrot, her eyes betrayed no sign of emotion. "Foxtrot. What are you after?"

"It's an assignment. I just need to… clarify… some things with him. If he's still in town." Fox just hoped he wasn't compromising himself.

Narrowing her eyes dangerously for a moment, Clara seemed to stare into him. "Felix? He's here."

He tried not to notice the way she was glaring at him. He didn't do anything wrong… he didn't think. Perhaps this Clara wasn't one to be trusted. "I already knew he'd probably be here. But where around here, if that makes any sense."

The other plane seemed to glare at him harder, but responded easily. "Felix's been all over the place… Propwash Junction is a small town, though, so you shouldn't have trouble finding him. I can think of a few places to check. Would you like me to take you to them?"

"It's not necessary… it's a confidential matter that I could talk to him about later. I just need to know where he set up his lab… and why you're glaring at me." Fox couldn't help it anymore. He did nothing wrong, so it was illogical that this plane would have something against him, like she apparently did.

It looked as if the plane couldn't even put her anger towards him into words… but it was more a stern glare of disappointment than fueled by inner fires… and even though Foxtrot would not pick up on it, her gaze seemed not directed towards him, but towards some unseen enemy. "Nevermind," she almost hissed. Then she dutifully told Foxtrot where to go. "I don't know where his lab is set up, but you could check down there, in Rush's hanger. Don't just go busting through the door, though. At least be polite about it." There was a sadness in her eyes as she said those last words.

"Why would I go and do something like that? It's not tactically sound. You don't attack 'till you know someone's a threat." Of course, he had already been told that Felix was dangerous, but that was beside the point. Direct confrontation didn't work with rebels like that. Unless there were enough reinforcements to guarantee success, anyways.

She turned her gaze away from him for a second, then flicked her eyes back to him. "I know you said it's confidential… but could I come with you? I don't have to be there when you actually talk to him, just…" Clara seemed not to be able to put her thoughts into words. "You remind me of someone I lost…"

"Oh, I'm not going to talk to him right now. I just wanna make sure I know where he is for later," he said, gesturing for her to come with him as he turned down the street. "Who was it that you lost, anyway? If it's not too difficult for you to talk about it…" And, he wanted to add, why did this plane share the same callsign as him? It was against protocol.

"His name was Foxtrot," she started, staring at him evenly, "or that was what they called him. He left his squadron and came here. They took him… and I don't know where that good plane is…"

"Sounds like he was asking for it, to be honest… noble cause, but military planes don't have much of a place outside their squadron. I still don't understand why I haven't been put in one yet…"

"Because…" Clara started, then hesitated. Her next words after were weighted heavily, "I think… no, I _know_ that that plane is -was-..." She stopped, seeming to look to him to finish her sentence. _Put the pieces together… please…_

"-Wait." Fox looked to the sky, swearing he saw a big blue thing flying through the sky. Like a bird, but not… and it landed right near the outskirts of town. Right where Clara said Felix was possibly stationed. "...what was that?"

Clara looked up as well, but had missed the sight. Momentarily distracted from trying to explain to Foxtrot who he really was, she blurted, "What? What was what?"

"Blue flying thing. Looked like a giant bird or something. Not aircraft. Landed south-southwest of here." Already he was beginning to consider it as a threat, analyzing chances of winning if he had to fight it. Was it a drone? Something else that could be a danger to the town? He got slightly in front of Clara, almost defending her from whatever it was. Even if it was a ways off.

"Streak?" Clara asked, "You mean the dragon?"

"Dragon?"

"It's a long story… but he's friendly. Streak's not going to hurt any of us."

"He's not friends with Felix, is he?"

There was actually a hint of a smile on the plane's face. "That is debatable, but yes."

"How would something like that be an argument? You're a friend or you're an enemy. The only things in the middle are spies."

Clara shook her nose. "Or you're both. Like you and T-" she stopped, glancing downwards, as if struck with something grim.

"...me and who?" Whoever this other Foxtrot was, his legacy was already getting annoying. They weren't the same plane. Not even close.

"Tera…"

"...I don't even know who you're talking about. You're acting like I should know all these people… I don't."

Clara just blinked, dead eyed for a moment. "She is my half sister. And Foxtrot, you have to have faith that you know them. You just… don't remember."

"How could I not remember something like that? ...I've never even visited this town before."

"But you have… you met me before I even had a voice," she murmured, her soul distant and faraway. "You left your squadron to stay with me… and you sacrificed so much…" She looked to him, "I don't know what they did to you…" She looked as if she wanted to embrace him, but she stayed back, a fear entering her eyes as she stared at the plane that was once someone she knew. He was a stranger now…

"I don't even have a squadron. I've never been in one, and I probably never will be. I'm the one they send when a whole fleet's too 'intimidating,' if you have to know. I haven't been in one place for more than a couple weeks, tops. And I've never lived in a place like this. I'm sorry… Clara - was it?- but you have the wrong guy. I'm sure I'll be seeing you around, but I need to take care of some things. Thank you for helping me find Shiftwell's lab." Even though he sounded more angry or annoyed, his eyes revealed that he was terrified. Clara had struck a chord in him, and he didn't like it. At all. The F-18 left promptly down the road, careful to keep an eye on Streak, who was still outside, but scoping out where exactly everything was anyways. Hopefully he wouldn't draw any more attention to himself.

As Clara watched him go, she scolded herself. She knew she should feel something- hurt, sorrow, or at least disappointment- but she felt nothing. Absolutely nothing.


	4. Chapter 3

It was either late night or early morning when Fox finally decided to carry out the first part of his mission. He probably waited too long, if he was being honest with himself, but there weren't really a lot of escape options, either. That, and, if he could help it, he wasn't supposed to kill anyone. For whatever reason. All he knew was that the lab had to be destroyed.

Having been flying for a while, he eventually put himself on a path that went right above his intended target… and he knew he had to get this the first time. He couldn't miss and hit something else. Releasing one bomb off of each of his wings to stay balanced, he was quick to bank away from the situation, but slow to land. If he stayed in flight long enough, he could lie and say he was somewhere else… even if he was acting on government order. The explosions shook the air almost akin to an earthquake. He loved it.

Coasting a good distance from the town - hopefully far enough away where he couldn't be heard - he watched as a glow began to erupt from the outskirts of the area. He wouldn't have really minded if other places had subsequently caught fire, but the important part was that the traitor was out, and hopefully not dead. He already knew he'd be in trouble if he was, but, in all honesty, he didn't care. A traitor was a traitor, even if the government wanted him alive. It'd be better to have the loose ends tied up, anyways. Especially since a war was imminent.

Fox continued flying lazily until he was almost out of fuel, then made his way back to Propwash and landed. It was almost sunrise, and he knew for a fact that he'd dropped the first bomb at about one in the morning. Which was plenty of time he could use as a perfect alibi for the vehicles that were already up and about.

He could see Clara off a ways, just outside what was probably her own hangar. He wanted to talk to her, but he also knew that he shouldn't go back to the scene of the 'crime,' if Fox himself was the one that committed it. It might ruin his chances with her… both in getting her to join the military, and, possibly, in a romantic sense… she already acted like she liked him, even if she had him confused with someone else. But then again, he was admittedly a terrible flirt. He didn't have much of a chance with _anyone_ once they got to know him.

Figuring that he didn't have much to lose, he taxied over to her, glancing at the destroyed hangar a little ways down the road, plumes of smoke from the dying fire drifting lazily upward into the morning sky. "...what happened?"

"I don't know. Some sort of explosion," Clara answered, eyes set on the flames but looking past them as if blind.

"Well, _yeah_. That's what it seems like, anyways…" He looked at her for a second, wondering why she seemed so… almost zombie-like. Normally fighters were invigorated by fire. Or, at least, that was what he had been told… and it "...is it too early for you or something?"

She glanced up at him for a split second. "No… times haven't been kind to me. I want the old Foxtrot back. You're a familiar face, but when I look in your eyes you're a stranger."

"Why are you so insistent that you know me?"

"I don't know you," she said, "not anymore."

"I don't know how you _could_ know me… but maybe we can _get_ to know each other. From what my orders were saying, I'm gonna be around here for a while… so maybe we could go flying later?"

Clara sighed heavily. "Sure, Foxy."

The plane almost winced. "Um… not sure if there's a nice way to put this, but don't call me Foxy..."

Harrumphing, Clara glared at him good naturedly, "And what are you going to do about that, Foxy?"

He chuckled, nudging her with his wing slightly. "Not much I _would_ do, prop plane. You got lucky." Of course, he wouldn't state the obvious… Foxy was a girls' name in the first place.

"If I got lucky once, I can be lucky again, Foxy."

"Don't push it. You said you didn't know me yet." he said good-naturedly, turning away a little; he had reports to give before the police decided that he was an arsonist or something. "I'll see you later, okay?"

"Alright," Clara said, losing some of her charm.

"Cool," he replied, heading back down the road to the motel-he still had yet to check in, but it'd be easy enough. Most of the time they knew he'd be dropping in. Fox already knew exactly what he was going to say when They contacted him, though. He'd noted everything about how his initial assignment went, and, best of all, he actually had a reason to stay in the town. The mix-breed would be easy to recruit. Maybe she could even stay with him rather than going into a squadron… it'd be nice to have someone around for a change.


	5. Chapter 4

_Fox. Seriously. You're freaking out about inviting a girl to go flying with you. You've done this a million times before...well… maybe not, but still. So what if she's pretty? You're trying to_ recruit _her. Nothing else. This is NOT a date._

Even if he _was_ slightly nervous, he knew he had no reason to be, and in turn showed no signs of being so. Everything in his report had gone smoothly, and, luckily, the government had given him a day longer to stay in the town. But only a day. He had to leave by the next morning… but that gave him enough time, he thought. And if he couldn't recruit her, at the very least he could figure out why… or how… she knew him. For whatever reason, the thing that scared him about her was now more intriguing than anything else.

He rolled back to where he'd met with her before… he assumed it was her hangar, but at the same time he felt bad. If he'd missed his target earlier by even a little bit, it could've been hit. No one was outside, so he pushed what looked like a doorbell button with his nose.

The plane was indeed inside, staring vacantly at the wall. She seemed broken, half dead… but there was tension in her wings and tail, like she was ready to fight or lash out. Clara hardly noticed the F-18 enter the hanger, but responded to his sounds anyways. "Who is it?" she asked, a note of defeat in her voice.

"...it's me, Fox… from earlier?"

"Foxtrot? How could I forget who you are," she said, smiling a bit at the thought. "But then, I thought you'd never forget me…"

"...that's partly what I wanted to ask you about. It's hard to believe that you know me… but… how are you so sure about it?" He looked around the room slightly as he spoke, somewhat curious. For whatever reason… it seemed the slightest bit familiar.

"Because I know my husband," she said, watching him carefully, as if seeking any part of the plane she once knew. "And I know the government. As much as I respect and revere them, I can't believe they took my Foxy away… and you? You're him, and I know you are… but behind your eyes I see not the plane I love, but a stranger and an enemy."

"But how?!" She wasn't making any sense. It just… didn't compute. He turned back to face her, almost knocking a framed picture to the ground in the process. He turned back for a split second to make sure it wasn't broken before looking back to Clara sheepishly. "Sorry… I guess I'm just a klutz today."

She shorted. "You're always a klutz, you oaf," she teased, "Always are, always were, and always will be."

"Maybe on the ground, but not in the air," he said with a slight chuckle… but things still weren't adding up. If Clara was so close to him… how did he not remember her? It _couldn't_ have been the government. There was no way. The government wouldn't hurt a military plane. "C'mon, let's go flying. It'll be fun," he added, gesturing towards the door slightly. That, and flying was always a good way to get to know someone.

"Alright, Foxy," she said, "Let's test those words. I betcha you won't be able to beat this racer in the sky!"

 _She's a racer? This should be fun._ "Ever broken the sound barrier? It's a real rush. You should try it sometime," he teased slightly, slowly starting his engines and allowing them to warm up a little.

"I haven't, but I also know that speed isn't everything. I wouldn't put your money where your mouth is."

"Is that a challenge?"

"Do you dare it to be?"

"You're on."

Grinning, she left the hangar looking more alive than Foxtrot had seen her yet. "So, the typical 'track' my sister and I liked to run was around the bluff -including the tunnel down there." She motioned with one wing towards one of the 'wings' of the bluff. "We try to keep lower to the ground, except when we round the 'tail' of the bluff."

The F-18 tried not to sound uncertain… the last time he purposely flew low, he was thrown upwards by the current. "I don't think I've ever flown that low before. Shouldn't be too bad, though."

"Is the big bad wolf scared?" she teased, knocking him gently with one wing.

"Heck no! Why would I be? We're just flying in a circle."

Clara smirked at him, "There's more to it than that, Foxy. Anyways, enough chatter. You're on!" With that, she almost stalked off towards the runway with her nose held high and confidence skyrocketing - a very different plane than she had been before. For whatever reason, Foxtrot really liked it.

Fully starting his engine, he took off just after her, meeting her in a small circle above Propwash. "Okay… so how do we start?"

"The best place to start tends to be on this side of the bluff," the hybrid said, lowering and circling the right wing of the bluff. "There's enough space to jostle for position, but also not enough to make it too easy to pass by one another."

"Okay, let's do that. You can even have a head start if you want," he said jokingly. It was only fair… he still couldn't believe that a prop plane had taken a challenge to face a jet.

Clara glared at him, but her smile showed it wasn't real. "Head start? I thought the one most likely to lose gets that, not me. Don't get too cocky, now," she warned. Already she was calculating a plan to catch Foxtrot when agility outweighed speed. Without jet engines, she had no chance… but maybe… "Ready on your count, Foxtrot!"

 _I'm the one getting cocky?_ "If you're sure," he said, almost shrugging. "3, 2, 1, GO!" he called out, immediately diving down as low as he could along the 'track'… which admittedly wasn't very low.

Clara wasn't far behind him, but the start of the race was the part that she knew Foxtrot would take advantage of. Just as she suspected, she was quick to fall behind -Foxtrot's greater speed immediately imminent. However, as they rounded the bluff and the river running alongside it created odd crags of rock and trees in random directions, he'd surely be slowed down.

And, sure enough, he was. Taking the bluff too fast and forced to go much wider on the turn than he would've liked, it wasn't long before the F-18 realized that Clara was right… and he was going to be in second place if he didn't catch up. He couldn't gain any speed if he had to keep dodging nature. This wasn't normal flying by any means. He almost growled in frustration, accidentally hitting his wing on a tree branch and scratching the paint. A reddish-orange hue showed underneath.

Clara, going at a much slower speed but seeming to make up for it in agility, caught up to him. "You alright, Fox?" she asked, maneuvering past him.

"What do you think? You just passed me," he practically snarled. Even his _stall speed_ wasn't slow enough to avoid the obstacles in time. At this point, he was probably going to need to be repainted because of all the scratches he was getting. Not to mention it hurt.

"Nobody likes a sore loser -in literal or metaphorical sense," she snorted, now several lengths ahead of him, and soon to be coming up on the tail of the bluff -where they'd arch over it. It was another strong point for Foxtrot, and she hoped she'd gained enough of a head to make winning possible, even if slim.

As soon as he'd gotten beyond the impossible part of the race, Foxtrot leveled himself, wishing it was safe to go faster than what he was doing already if he wanted to stay low… but Clara was already almost over the bluff, and he was in a rather hopeless position in comparison. Gaining enough altitude to make it a bit easier to do so, he pushed his engines as hard as he could to accelerate. He quickly passed above Clara… but he didn't know where the finish line was or if he'd done it in time.

Pushing her own engines to the maximum, Clara sped forwards -but to no avail could she catch the jet again. He had the race, and that was that. It bugged her, but she shoved the feeling aside. "Good race," she called when she noticed his almost erratic flying -most likely due to the fact he hadn't completed the course before.


	6. Chapter 5

The F-18 turned back around, slowing his speed considerably and flying over to Clara. His paint was so scratched up that anyone could tell that he wasn't naturally a steely grey, but any other damage he might have acquired from the race was hidden by his actions - and it likely wouldn't be acknowledged until Clara wasn't around. "...did I win?" he asked, confused.

"It's a short race," Clara said, "and you won." She grinned a bit at the fact Foxtrot's natural colours were showing. Everyone in town knew already, for the most part, but he probably didn't remember… "Your true colours are showing, Fox."

 _You actually called me Fox?_ he wanted to say, but then he realized what Clara was telling him. "...I know," he said quickly, almost becoming embarrassed at the mention. He adjusted his flight path to be a little ways away from Propwash, gaining more altitude. "I guess I know not to race through trees like that again."

"That, or you need practice." She responded. "Hmm… you probably don't remember it, but my sister, Tera, and… well, almost the whole town got on a prank where you came into your birthday party in your natural colouring. All the songs were remixes of 'What Does the Fox Say'. " She laughed. "I felt so bad for you, but you have to admit that it was a good prank."

"How do I know if it was a good prank if I don't remember it?" Although, Foxtrot had to admit… if that _did_ happen to him, he'd rather not recall it. He shuddered a little at the thought.

"Trust me, it was wonderful," Clara said, chuckling.

"Maybe not for me… or him… or whatever. I don't know anymore." All the evidence seemed to be falling into place… but it didn't make any sense. How could he, of all planes, end up in a town like Propwash and not remember it? He wasn't even a year old yet!

Clara sped up a bit to try to keep pace. "Trust me when I say that you are the Foxtrot I know," she said gently.

"But how? The government wouldn't do something like that… they just try to keep people safe."

"I don't know… but it's the only explanation. They erased your memory… it's the only possibility."

"...isn't that… not possible?" Even if he didn't believe it, however, he still began to sift through his systems mentally. "...What if there were still pieces of what was there before? Like memories they missed."

"It's something I could only hope for…"

Foxtrot flew in silence for a minute, continuing to run through his memory files… and then something didn't match up. "...there's a weird date. July 18… 3550? 10 years ago?"

"Before we met," she said softly. "At least, before we met the first time -the time you don't remember."

"How is that even there… I haven't even seen New Years'." Something was wrong - that date seemed really, really familiar. More familiar than a historical date. But he didn't even exist back then...did he? "...why would the government do something like that? They're not supposed to hurt anyone unless they have to."

"Mind washing isn't exactly hurting anyone, depending on the way you see it," Clara commented.

"Ten. Years. And I don't remember any of it. None. Just that date." He couldn't understand it… everything was telling him that the date was the day he was activated. It just didn't- his radio clicked to life mid-thought, making him wince a little at the sudden static. ' _Foxtrot 117, report your status._ ' He quickly turned it off.

"I don't know what to tell you, Foxtrot…"

The F-18 had gradually been gaining altitude, now a ways above the clouds. His radio wouldn't stay off. It kept starting itself back up again, even if it seemed like he'd be out of range. Like They didn't trust him or something. But then again… that much was already clear. He'd never been contacted this many times before. Forcing his radio into a restart - he couldn't shut it down completely - the plane looked back to Clara, a hint of fear in his eyes. "Then tell me this: everything you've said about me being your husband. Is it true?"

"There's nothing truer," she said softly.

"Okay. Thanks," he said quickly, his radio turning back on again. "...because I'm gonna do something really stupid now."

The static that came through the transmission wasn't enough to hide the obvious panic on the other end. " _Foxtrot 117! Report!"_

The F-18 finally responded. "No."

" _You're in direct violation of military code A-113 if you do not report your status when contacted._ "

"I already told you no."

" _Explain yourself._ "

"It means no. And I know what you did to me," he hissed, "Consider this your first and last warning: anyone that tries to track me will _not_ make it back alive."

" _Fox-"_ he forced the radio back into a restart sequence loop before They could even finish. He could keep it up as long as he had to.

"...okay. Now there's no going back," Foxtrot said. "... not for me, anyways… I don't even know if they're going to try tracking me or not. If someone shows up, you need to get away as fast as possible."

"Foxtrot, I'm not going to lose you again. We go down together, not apart. Not again," Clara said -almost ordered- in a tone thick with seriousness.

"I don't want you dead because of me. You're unarmed."

"If I end up dead, that's my problem - not yours."

"It IS my problem, though," he practically growled, "For one, you can't defend yourself. You're basically saying you _want_ to be blown up, and that's not fair to anyone. And for two, I need you to be my memory. I don't know if I'll ever remember those years with you again… but if I don't have anything to fight for, I can't. It doesn't work like that."

"Then teach me how to fight. You're the only thing keeping me going-I would be just as lost without you as you would be without me."

"You're acting like I'm gonna lose if I'm confronted. I won't." He paused for a moment, contemplating something. "Your way of fighting is probably different, though. You could use the rocks and trees as a weapon."

Clara glanced towards the bluff below. "If you had been following me more closely, I _could_ have outmaneuvered you into a trap…" she commented, "but it's not a very reliable way - if my attacker has similar abilities, they'd probably see it coming before I thought up the idea."

"They don't use prop planes anymore… and jets _can't_ make those turns," he said, almost chuckling. "You'd be okay, I think… and if not, we can make sure you're armed. If it works with the way you're built, I've already got more than enough weapons for myself."

Her eyes burned bright, "I'd rather be armed as a precaution. I would be glad to shoot down any plane who dares to get in the way of us. Nobody is separating you and I again, and 'til death do us part."

 _...Warplanes are warplanes… hybrid or not._ "How about this? We _don't_ die. Besides, I don't think They have anyone I couldn't take on my own, and definitely not with another plane at my side. We'll be fine."

There was a jittery, almost excited feeling rising up in Clara's tank. "I can agree with that statement."

"Same here," he replied, smiling a little, even if he was somewhat worried as well. "Come on, let's go back to Propwash. I don't know about you, but I need to refuel."

Clara checked her fuel gauge. "I'm getting down there," she commented, banking in for a landing behind him.

The F-18 was quiet for a minute, requesting for permission to land out of habit but not saying much else. Already he was trying to figure out how a battle like that would work out - even if Clara would be armed, he didn't want her having to use that capability. As soon as both planes were on the ground, he turned back to Clara. "I need you to promise something real quick. If I do give you weapons, it doesn't mean you go using them right away if something happens. If I need you as backup, I'll tell you. Okay?"

She didn't want to agree, but by the intense fire in Foxtrot's eyes, she knew she had to. She wasn't a trained plane, only a racer… it'd be safer for her to remain away from the fight if she could help it. "I promise," she said honestly, "but if you are in trouble, and I notice, I WILL break that promise. I can't risk losing you again."

"Better than nothing, I guess," he replied, looking around the town for a moment. "...we're gonna need a mechanic to get those weapons on you, though."

"Do you think we could trust Dottie?" she asked, forgetting that the F-18 had had his memory wiped. "She's been reliable in the past."

"If you think so… I still have to relearn who people are."

Clara couldn't say she completely trusted any mechanic, but she at least trusted Dottie to be truthful and honest with everyone, and she seemed the kind of person to be willing to keep a secret -even from the government. "I think she's trustworthy," she concluded. "Should we ask now?"

"The sooner, the better." What he _did_ know that he wasn't the only one that could break the sound barrier. Which was bad in this case. Limited time was never a good thing.


	7. Chapter 6

Clara followed him, overjoyed that Foxtrot had not only believed her, but accepted and - in a way - almost remembered her. She felt more alive now than any other time in her life. "Do you think They're going to come after you soon… how high of a priority are you to Them? Why did they send you back here, anyways?"

The F-18 shushed her quickly, making sure no one could overhear. "One, I don't know. Two, I'm clueless, other than They didn't want me disconnecting from their communications. Three… They needed me to blow up Shiftwell's lab. Illegal experiments or something, I don't know." He didn't even feel guilty in saying so - they were orders, and he followed them.

" _You_ were the one to do it?" Clara sounded shocked. " _Foxtrot!"_

"I was under orders! They sent _me_ 'cause anyone else would've killed him."

"So why didn't you?" she asked, seemingly not quite as ruffled as she had been before. "And why couldn't they have sent a different person, if they can brainwash you."

"There _aren't_ a lot of solo fliers that take a 'don't kill' order seriously… even if they say they won't, they will and say it was an accident." That, and he distinctly remembered the forklift that put him on the mission saying that she was doing him a favor of sorts. Did she know of his past, too?

"Oh…" she answered simply. "You know, Rush's hangar wasn't a laboratory, it was just the place where Felix was staying for the time being. You got the wrong address," she chuckled.

His eyes widened, already running through probability calculations. "...please tell me I didn't kill anyone… that wasn't the mission…"

"Nobody was there. Rush… well, I don't know where he went, and Felix and Streak were both safe and sound across town. You're not a murderer," she reassured.

Foxtrot sighed a little, relieved. "I'm still a murderer by your terms of it… but as long as _they're_ not dead, even if I missed the target."

"They're not," she said softly, "You can relax." She nuzzled him a bit. "We should go tell Dottie, see if she can get me set up to fight."

The F-18 had to admit that he was a little surprised at Clara's gesture - he didn't remember _ever_ being nuzzled before. "Alright," he replied, following her lead as he continued to learn the town's layout. "...you're sure she won't report us?"

"I'm not, but I can't possibly think of anyone else who _wouldn't_. I mean, there's Sparky… but he's not exactly equipped for full on modification."

"…I hope you're right," he said simply; while he really, _really_ didn't want to get caught so soon after threatening the government like he did… he didn't really have a choice but to trust Clara. He still didn't know what he was doing, really.

Leading on, she stopped at the Fill N' Fly, poking her nose into the doorway. "Hello? Dottie?"

The forklift put down the clock she was working on - again. For whatever reason, it wouldn't work consistently for more than a day or two without having to be rewound again. Dottie considered getting another one, but she never had the time. "Clara? You're looking well," she said simply - in all reality, the plane looked a lot perkier than she'd seen her recently. "What can I do for you?"

"Foxtrot's back," Clara grinned, moving over to allow the other plane space. "...but… there's a catch. He can't remember anything from before he was taken, and now the government's on his tail… and…" she looked to Foxtrot for help with explaining the situation.

"...I was wondering if you could arm Clara for self-defence?" the F-18 finished for her. "I have weapons that would probably be compatible with her."

Dottie had to pause for a moment, trying to process what had just happened. Foxtrot - not panicking about his paint being scratched to the point of his natural colors showing - was asking her to arm Clara because he'd just defected from the government. "Okay… Foxtrot? You do realize that you were arrested for _treason_ when They took you from here, right?"

"And?"

The forklift rolled her eyes. "Nevermind. But what you're asking me to do is breaking a _lot_ of laws. I'm breaking one just by not turning you in, from the sound of it." Of course, this didn't mean she was going to. "No offence to you, Clara, but have you even _fired_ a weapon before?"

"No, but I could," she said indignantly. In fact, she was excited to have even the chance. "I'm not sure what that has to do with anything."

"A lot, actually. You've never had to aim at something, much less a moving target."

"I'm gonna teach her," Foxtrot added, "it won't be that big of an issue."

Dottie sighed… the planes were really dead-set on it, apparently. "Even if I were to do this, people would notice that she's armed… which isn't normal for a nonmilitary plane."

"Not if I gave her a couple of my air-to-air missiles… the emergency ones are smaller and are at the bases of my wings. No one would notice unless she was flying really low over them."

The forklift grabbed a wrench, intrigued. Maybe this _could_ work. She rolled over to Foxtrot, checking under his wings like he'd said - sure enough, she hadn't even noticed the missiles he was talking about. And, if they were painted to match Clara's silver, they'd be practically invisible. "This would be _only_ for self-defence," she said, directing her statement at Clara. "If you use them for anything else, the government would probably arrest you. And there's no getting out of that."

"And why would I?" Clara shrugged. Just because she was excited about the weapons didn't mean she was going to use them irresponsibly.

"I'm just warning you," Dottie replied simply, "I'm not saying you would on purpose, but if something happened and you couldn't control them…"

Clara blinked. She hadn't thought of that… "Like Foxtrot said, he'll teach me. He knows what he's doing." _I think._

The F-18 caught the uncertainty in her voice. "Of course I know what I'm doing! She'll be fine."

"As long as you're sure," Dottie said, still obviously not trusting the situation much. The forklift started detaching one of the weapons from Foxtrot, the F-18 twitching a little in response.

In all reality, Foxtrot didn't realize that he was ticklish there. He attempted to suppress the feeling, clearing his throat slightly. "...besides, those missiles have safeties on them. You can't trigger them by instinct or anything."

Clara was relieved to hear that. "So no accidental shots?"

"Hopefully not," he replied, somewhat absentmindedly, biting his tongue to keep from laughing until Dottie finally got the weapon off of him, inspecting it quickly before she rolled over to Clara.

Opening a couple panels underneath the plane's wing, she found that it looked like it was constructed very close, if not exactly on par with how Foxtrot was. She held the missile close to where it was to go, double-checking to see if it would fit or not. Unfortunately for the forklift, it did. "This looks like it's going to work. Just let me take the other one off Foxtrot and we should be good to go."

"My dad used to tell me I'd make a good jet, except for my prop… that is, before he left." It was with both a sad and happy note that she said it.

"...are you a mix-breed?" Foxtrot asked somewhat suddenly. "...I thought that people wouldn't build them." In all actuality, the F-18 had _never_ seen a plane that wasn't a pure model before… that he remembered, anyways.

"I am," Clara nodded. "My parents were rich enough to tell someone to build me a mix breed - mostly, I hypothesize, because my mom wanted me to be a racer and my dad wanted a fighter. So I could choose myself… now that I think of it."

 _How could you even_ decide _something like that? You can't pick your directives!_ "But then why did you choose to be a racer?" He saw Dottie move to his other side, and in turn he braced himself for the inevitable tickling. He would not laugh, if he could help it.

"I don't know," Clara shrugged, "I just did. Why?"

"No reason. Just trying to figure you out… I still don't know you that well."

She tried to keep the disappointed, almost betrayed look out of her eyes… but it wasn't his fault. She _hated_ whoever had destroyed the Foxtrot she once knew… "I don't know you that well either," she said honestly… Foxtrot was different now, even if the same person.

"...I thought you said you did." If anything, the F-18 was just confused… if he was the same plane as before, how did she not know him?

"I do, but you're not the same Foxtrot I once had. You're… your entire life is different. Shoot, you probably don't even know who Tera is… heh, your worst enemy."

Dottie had already gotten the other weapon off of the F-18, deciding to paint the launchers to match Clara before putting them on her. The less likely they were to be noticed, the better.

"You were talking about her earlier… how did I end up with your sister for an enemy?" Foxtrot began to realize… the more he didn't think about what was happening, the less sensation he felt. Like when battle injuries happen… that is, if he had ever fought in one. He didn't remember doing so.

"You know… that I don't really know. All I know was that you and her grew up on the same base together, and that you hated each other's guts."

"Well… I don't get along with other military planes very often, I know that much." _Yet another reason why They sent me places alone._ But then something didn't add up. "How did you race with her around that track, though? ...if that's the same sister you're talking about..."

"I only have one sister," Clara snorted, "and she most certainly not a military plane. She's a racer -like myself."

"How would I have met her on a base if she's a racer, though? Unless things were different before what I can remember… active-duty and retired aircraft are the only ones allowed."

"Tera's the daughter of my mom and a military plane who lived on the base… I'm actually only her half sister," Clara explained. "I don't really know much more than that…"

 _Another mix-breed? But prop planes don't have any use in the military anymore! Well… besides commanders._ Foxtrot shook his nose. "Better than knowing nothing… I'm still trying to put pieces together about everything."

Dottie had been quiet for a minute, busying herself with making sure the missile launchers were painted to match Clara as closely as possible… but the fact that Foxtrot's memory had been erased was disturbing her more and more with every mention. And he was _still_ willing to protect Clara as if he knew her for years. "...I probably shouldn't be saying this… but there might be a way to get some of your memory back. I don't know if he'd be willing, but you could talk to Felix."

Foxtrot paused, realizing that Dottie was talking about the _enemy of the government_ that he was instructed to bomb. "What kinda car _is_ this guy?" _Or, better question: why in my right mind would I EVER trust someone like that?_

Clara shrugged, "He seems like an okay guy… But I haven't spoken to him much."

"But the government ordered me to destroy his lab."

"He brought someone back from the dead, wrong as it is," Dottie countered, checking to make sure the paint on the missiles had dried. For the most part, it did, which would do for now. She went back over to Clara, fitting one of them into place on her wing. "I'm not promoting him by any means, but he might be your only option."

"...just because I'm rebelling against them doesn't mean I'm trusting other rebels."

Clara stroked her wing lightly against his. "Please don't just throw the opportunity away. At least think about it."

He looked away from Clara for a second. What was he even thinking? He couldn't possibly trust someone that was against the government like that… but he supposed in that case he couldn't exactly trust his own judgement, either. "I gotta go," he said, "You stay here 'till those missiles are installed, got it?"

"Where? What are you gonna do, Foxy?"

"I'm gonna talk to that Felix person," he said, turning to exit the hangar. "I wanna know what I'm fighting for."

"Alright," Clara said softly, but part of her didn't want him to leave her a second time - even for a moment.

The look in her eyes said it all. "I'll be back in a bit," Foxtrot said quickly, leaving the room.


	8. Chapter 7

And, of course, the F-18 didn't even know where to go. Last time he'd located the car was because of the lizard-thing flying around. This time, it wasn't… or at least, he didn't see it. As he approached the outskirts of town, where Clara had said that Shiftwell was last, it seemed like at least half of the hangars were abandoned, aside from the one he'd blown up. One of them still had an intact American flag flying, even if it was clear that no one was living there anymore. Eerie was the only way he could describe it, but the area was definitely a good cover for someone trying to hide. The only problem was that now he had no idea where to start looking.

After ruling out the hangars that probably wouldn't be able to sustain anything, as well as the building with the flag - which looked to be padlocked from the outside - he was still left with two possible locations. Rolling up to the first one, he hesitantly tried pushing the door with his nose. It gave a little, revealing that there wasn't any residents… he didn't think. "Uh… is anyone in here?" he said, though he didn't receive any response. Nor did he hear anything that told him otherwise. Giving up, he moved on to the other hangar.

He could've sworn he heard something behind him, but he stopped thinking about it for the time being. He was just being paranoid. This place was creepy enough. Rolling up to the second building, the door seemed a bit more secure than the first one, even if it still gave a little bit when he pushed it. "Hello? ...I'm looking for Felix," he said hesitantly, seemingly into empty space, "...Clara said he'd be around here."

Something jumped out at him, all white and blue with claws and teeth. "Yes?" it asked, "Who-" he stopped short at the realization it was Foxtrot. "Woah… don't scare me like that! I was about ready to blast you with ice."

The startled plane reversed a little, but quickly moved on once he realized the dragon wasn't going to hurt him somehow. "And… you recognize me, too. Look, I'm telling you right now that I don't remember anything before about three months ago," he started, wishing he didn't have to explain so much. He felt like he was gossiping or something. "The only reason why I know who you and Felix are is because I saw you flying around yesterday, and Dottie said that Felix might be able to help me get some of my memories back. Is it true?"

Streak glared, his throat glowed blue. "Yeah…" he cocked his head a bit, "why don't you remember? Last I checked, it's extremely difficult for vehicles to get amnesia."

The F-18 continued to stand his ground, even with the creature's threatening behavior. "As far as I know, it was the government. My activation date was ten years ago, but _everything_ from that time is gone."

The dragon lightened up a bit, curling his tail over his claws. "I'd tell you where Felix is, but I don't have a clue. I think he left for gasoline."

"Actually, I got back a while ago. Sorry if I was eavesdropping." A red Jaguar pulled up from behind them, surprised to see that it really _was_ Foxtrot. "You've been missing for… I don't even know how long." Already, he was running scans on the plane. Just as a precaution.

"I know. I've heard the story enough."

Streak jumped at Felix's sudden appearance, even if he shouldn't have. "We were all worried about you… especially with the commotion with Clara and Tera, and now that…" He snarled something in Dragonese… something that didn't sound the nicest, "who blew up my hangar!"

Foxtrot didn't want to lie - but then again, a lizard, his size, with some kind of ice power was quite a bit of leverage to. It'd probably be better to not say anything. "...like I said… I don't remember anything. All of this is new to me." _...Clara didn't say anything about a problem with her sister..._

"That much is obvious," Felix said quickly, pulling up his computer for a second to run an analysis or two… and, of course, there were complications to the situation. "They reset you, from the look of it. But you can't go into the lab yet. They've got you monitored." He shut down the screen again, which Foxtrot thought was coming from his headlights, turning back around and glancing at the other abandoned hangars. "Streak? Can you grab a few wrenches and a cutting torch? We're going over there," he said, gesturing at one of the buildings.

"Woah, woah, woah. Cutting torch?!" Foxtrot reversed a little, trying not to show fear at the thought.

"Just if the bugs are welded to you. That's the problem: there's someone that's seeing what you're seeing and hearing what you're hearing right now. And if not _right now_ , they still can. I wouldn't compromise your flight integrity."

Streak couldn't suppress a toothy grin at the thought of a jet being afraid of fire. "Rodger that," he said, bounding towards the older building, returning mere moments later with tools in jaws.

Foxtrot, however, stopped in his tracks. Something wasn't right. "...for a couple criminals running from the law, you don't really act like it."

"Oh, we're not criminals," Streak started with ease. "And we're not exactly _running_ from the law. Everyone knows where we are and, I'm assuming, what we're doing…" The dragon rolled his shoulders in a shrug, "I don't think we're exactly the most important tasks out there - we haven't murdered anyone."

The Jaguar, on the other hand, seemed to be a little more touchy about the subject. "Streak… you're sure no one's after us? Remember Rush's hangar?"

"I'm not saying they're not after us," Streak pointed out, "I'm just saying we're not criminals." He spread his wings indignantly, "And why they'd be trying to kill us makes no sense! We've done what we've done… it's not like killing us would do anything."

"I don't think they really care." Felix was doing his best not to say much in front of the F-18… even if it wasn't the plane he was trying to keep things from, specifically. "Foxtrot, we have to get those devices off of you."

"Affirmative," the plane replied quickly, out of instinct. He still didn't understand why the duo were willing to help him… but he really hoped he wasn't making the wrong choice. He entered the hangar uncertainly, watching Felix pull up a diagram on the screen from before, discussing who-knows-what with Streak. _...why would a car have a computer like that? Or a lizard. A. Talking. Lizard._

Streak shifted so he could examine the diagram. "So, if they're possibly listening to this…" he grinned, spinning around and making perhaps the strangest noise yet to come from his mouth. Indescribable was the only word for it. "Can they see us too?" he asked, making a strange face as he did. "I betcha whoever's watching is totally weirded out."

"I know I am." Foxtrot moved a little ways away from Streak.

"Don't worry, I'm always like that," he said, giving a toothy grin. "But on a more serious note," his voice suddenly became low. "How do we start with figuring out where these things even are."

"That's just it. I'm not exactly sure. I'm getting some pinpoints from the scan, but they're not in the right places. First things first, however… take his helmet off. The cockpit is a good place to hide a system like that."

Doing as he was told, the dragon climbed atop Foxtrot's back, hoping the plane wouldn't retaliate and knock him off. "How, exactly?"

"How about no?" Foxtrot was careful not to accidentally hurt Streak… even if he wanted to resist. "There's gotta be another way."

"Unfortunately, I don't think there is. And at the very least, we need to make sure," Felix said, turning his attention back to Streak. "...is it bolted on somehow?"

"Sorry," Streak said, prying his claws under Foxtrot's helmet. He tugged, gently, and it didn't give. "Not that I can see, but it's not coming…" he tugged a little harder. It slid some, but didn't move, "Nope… not coming off."

Foxtrot winced a little, instinctively releasing a latch that was keeping it in place. "...do anything stupid and I will _not_ hesitate to kill you."

Arching his neck to peer into Foxtrot's eyes from his position, he made a face. "So _you're_ allowed to do stupid things and I'm not?" Of course, he was just poking fun. The dragon then slid the plane's helmet off, opening up Foxtrot's cockpit afterwards. "So… what exactly am I looking for?"

"Anything that looks like it's new or been added." Felix attempted to pull up a system diagram to illustrate, but his computer kept glitching and shutting down before he could. "...and it looks like we _are_ being watched."

Streak gave Felix a concerned look. "How can they possibly be able to mess with your computer? I mean… isn't that _part_ of you?"

"...I'd rather not explain right now," he said quickly, "We're going to have to work without that, apparently." Instead, he decided to run a scan on the plane, projecting a green grid of light on Foxtrot for a second before that, too, disintegrated into distorted static.

Foxtrot was frozen in confusion, even if he already knew it was his fault. "What's…"

"The government doesn't want those tracking devices off of you. Obviously." The Jaguar had given up on using his computer for the time being. "...if we _can_ take them off, I don't have any references to make sure that's all that's being taken out."

Streak shifted beneath his talons. "So there's no way of restoring his memory?"

"There is a way to get it back… but I need to use my computer to do it, and the spyware on Foxtrot is disabling it somehow."

"...great." Foxtrot was only getting more annoyed with the situation. Not only was his memory still lost… but at this point, he just wanted Streak to close his cockpit and get off of him. "...I'm guessing things like this are why the rebels are losing the war."

Felix glared. "Whose side are you even on?"

"Not the government's. But you guys really need help if you want a chance at beating them."

"We have our hope and our freedom, and we won't lose it, or they'll have to kill all of us to destroy that," Streak stated, snarling.

"But you're not organized." At this point, Foxtrot wasn't thinking about anything but fighting force. "Hope is nice, but They don't care. A plane like me could take out this whole town if They told him to."

"Which is why we're not fighting," Felix countered, his disposition taking a turn for the worse. He blamed his computer. "We're waiting."

"For what?"

"I'm not explaining. The government already knows, obviously. Otherwise you wouldn't be here."

"Oh, come on!" he protested, even more annoyed. "If the government already knows, then there's no point keeping it a secret from me."

"They may not know all the details," Streak commented, "and even if they do know, we don't want to pile onto their databanks."

"It's not even my fault I'm like this!"

"I know," Felix responded simply. "And until we can fix it so you're _not_ like that, all I'm going to tell you is that we're waiting for now, but we are going to win. And there's nothing the government can do about it."

"Well that's specific," Foxtrot said, sarcasm abundant.

"That's the point." Felix, yet again, tried starting his computer… he didn't want to completely give up so soon. However, instead of glitching out on him this time, it started faster than normal. And the necessary diagrams were already pulled up. "...I'm not trusting this in the slightest…"

Streak rolled his shoulders. "It's like they think they can pull information from us if we fix him…" The dragon hissed, "Because we'd jeopardize our mission so easily."

The Jaguar paused, adjusting the order of the diagrams on his screen. "It's not our mission, though," he replied, obviously being careful of what he said. One wrong move could cause the information to disappear again. "...and maybe we shouldn't be so paranoid. Like you said, my computer _is_ a part of me. Perhaps it was just a glitch."

"I…" He eyed Felix suspiciously, "I'm not so sure. Aren't you the one who's overly paranoid?"

"Most of the time, yes," Felix responded simply, casually driving out of Foxtrot's visual field. "But I think we should humor them for now. If anything else happens, we'll just make sure they don't get their plane back."

"What?!" Foxtrot lurched forwards a little, almost startled at the proposition. They weren't going to _kill_ him, were they?

"You heard the part that we're not murderers?" Streak said casually. Shutting a plane down for a while -an option, surely- wasn't murder. They could start him back up whenever they pleased.

"But then what-"

"Oh, no. Killing isn't on the list at all. Streak would turn me into an ice block before something like that happened. I'd just make sure the government couldn't make any use of you."

Foxtrot didn't like the sound of that. At all. He went back over to the hangar door, trying to get it open on his own, "...look guys, thanks for trying to help and all… but this is getting a _little_ too weird."

Streak snorted at Felix, then turned his eyes to Foxtrot. "We wouldn't ever hurt you," he promised, "but if you want to go, then go."


	9. Chapter 8

The F-18 paused, looking from Streak and back to Felix, considering the consequences of both options. "...the only reason I'm even going to do this is because of Clara."

"You don't want to get your memories back for yourself? You're not even a little bit curious?" Streak couldn't imagine _not_ dying to know who he was before - that is, if he was in the same situation as Foxtrot.

"I could live without it. I've lived without it this long. But if I'm going to stay here and fight _against_ the government, I need to know what it is they took… other than what Clara's told me, I don't even know what I'm missing."

"So you're looking for a motive," Felix clarified, to which the plane nodded slightly. It was obvious at this point that Foxtrot didn't want to leave so soon.

"Oh," Streak said, extending a wing and sounding annoyed, "I can give you a motive: _they kidnapped you and wiped your mind._ I'm not sure what else you need."

"I need to know if they were _right_ for doing it or not," Foxtrot replied, almost sounding annoyed. "If I was such a bad plane that they had to reset me, then maybe it was better." He didn't even know what he was saying - of course he knew They were wrong… and of course he was curious about his past… but another part of him wondered otherwise. If he truly didn't want to know.

Streak softened some. "You weren't a bad plane. I mean, the most you did was leave your squadron, but that was because of Clara: it's not anything to punish you that severely for."

Foxtrot closed his eyes, knowing his cockpit was still open. He wondered if they could see what he was thinking, because he just surrendered. "...I hope you're right… because that plane needs to come back. I can't fight the government without him."

"Good, because we have to get this done as securely as possible, and hopefully without triggering a virus." Already Felix was putting together complex plans, his computer screen unintelligible to anyone but him at this point. "Streak, we're going to need a piece of cloth or something to block out his windshield - we're going to blindfold him. I'm not trusting these diagrams to give us all the information we need."

Nodding, the dragon walked to the other end of the room, pushing Neko off a crumpled pile of sheets, and returned with one in claw. "Sorry," he said as he extended his arms to reach around and tie the blanket over Foxtrot's windscreen.

The plane froze, partially in confusion at the lack of visual and partially in fear - he was blind. "Why is this necessary?" he asked curtly, keeping his emotions away from himself for the time being.

"Because the government can see what you see. And…" Felix ran a scan on the plane, "There's another camera on your starboard vertical stabilizer… it's not on the diagrams I have." The car's computer glitched, making him wince slightly. "Let's cover that and get you back to the actual lab. We'll just have to be careful."

Pulling another sheet from the pile, Streak wrapped and tied it around the plane's tail as well. With that done, he began to carefully guide Foxtrot out of the hangar. "Don't worry, I have experience as a forklift," he snorted as he went.

Felix pushed the hangar doors open, quickly looking around to see that there was no one outside. There wasn't. Already he could tell that Foxtrot was starting to get defensive - any AI deprived of visual input would. "Don't spook on us, okay?"

"I don't _spook_. Let's try blinding _you_ and see how you do," Foxtrot said. almost growling. He already told himself he wouldn't hurt either of them - sarcasm and cynicism, however, were free game. "Where even _is_ this lab?"

"I wish I could tell you… it's around here somewhere, though. We're not going far. And there's a computer there that the government can't control at the push of a button… which is what we need at the moment."

Streak patted the plane's side. "It's not that much farther," he agreed, "Just up ahead." All three soon entered the lab, and the dragon situated Foxtrot on the far side.

The plane thankfully locked his brakes. He was disoriented already.

"Good, that works," Felix said, attempting, and subsequently failing, to run a scan on Foxtrot again. "...where _did_ that computer go, anyways?"

Knocking things about in a clumsy way, Streak rummaged through a pile of junk and, when he got to the bottom, pulled out an old, dusty laptop built for specifically forklifts. "This one?"

"Yes, that one. I don't know how much processing power it has… but it'll be more than me right now. All that's needed is access to his memory banks, anyways."

Attempting to boot up the computer, the dragon responded, "Too bad Fire isn't here… We could use her right about now."

"Maybe… I don't know if she'd be able to help with this or not. Besides-" Felix cut himself off.

"What? Who's Fire?" At this point, Foxtrot was just looking for something to do besides stare at the sheet in front of his eyes.

"No one you need to be concerned about. Government's probably listening."

"Oh… yeah."

"It's up and running!" Streak relayed, having been largely ignoring both Felix and Foxtrot as he did so, "Now what?"

"Try to establish a wireless connection, if you can. If that doesn't work, there's a cable somewhere that should connect his hard drive to it directly." Felix kept trying to activate his computer, but the more he tried the more he failed. "...I'm assuming we're on the right track, at least…"

Tapping his claws across the elongated, strange keyboard, the dragon tried to establish a connection. "Tell me if this is working, because I'm ready to throw this computer across the room."

Foxtrot didn't know what to think. And then he did. _Insecure connection establishing… scanning…_ "I think it is," he said, half distracted. _Connection terminated._ "...and now it isn't. Connection's gone."

"Where's that hard drive cable?" Streak asked, snorting a plume of snow from his snout in frustration.

"...I don't know," Felix said, rolling over to a pile of tangled cables, pulling on a couple of them to see if they would come out. They didn't. "It was around here… wait!" he attempted shifting the pile to reveal a yellow cord - it looked like it was the keystone that was holding the clump together. "It's there… but I can't get to it."

Slinking over to him, the dragon took his claws and tried to untangle them, only resulting in tangling the pile more. He growled something foul in Dragonese.

Felix rolled his eyes, partially understanding what Streak was saying - or rather, the tone of it. "See my problem?" he said rhetorically, managing to get a hold of a wire with his teeth. "Pull on the pile," he told him, reversing slightly to see if he could dislodge the cable. As long as he didn't break it, anyways.

Pulling, the whole pile collapsed. Although still tangled, it was much less than before. "Got it!" he exclaimed, picking apart the wires further. "So… which one?"

"That thick one. Bright yellow, close to the middle."

"...you guys really aren't organized, are you?" The F-18 was almost nervous… even if he was doing his best not to show it.

"Got it!" Streak grabbed the cord, then swiftly attached it to both the computer and Foxtrot. The plane's control surfaces twitched a little, the system adjusting to having another interface to account for. All seemed to be working fine.

A small electrical spark shot out from where the cable was connected to the F-18. Felix was already trying to figure out what it could possibly be… most likely a short, from the looks of it. "...you're _sure_ you plugged it into the right port?"

A guilty, embarrassed look melted onto the dragon's face. "Didn't I?"

"...it looks like it, from what I can see…" Another surge, larger than before. "Foxtrot, don't fight!"

"I'm not!" he hissed, "Whatever it is, it's not me!"

Felix tried scanning the plane again. Still no luck. His computer glitched out, fantastically at that, impacting his eye hologram for a split second before shutting down again. "Firewall. Streak-"

The Jaguar couldn't even finish his sentence. The laptop burst into a cascade of flames, electrical spiderwebs dancing through Foxtrot's cockpit in a protective bubble, catching the sheet over his eyes within its perimeter.

"Great…" Streak spat, lashing his tail, "Now what?"

"Those are illegal," the car said blankly. "...they can't do that. They _shouldn't_ do that. I… I don't know if it's even possible to get past."

"It's not gonna work, is it." Foxtrot almost sounded dejected… he already knew what happened. He could feel it.

"I don't think so," Streak said, shaking his head. "Felix?"

"No. It won't," he said bitterly. "Not without something that can break firewalls, which is technology I can't use right now." The projectors in his headlights were flashing in attempts to reboot, but they were yielding no results. He gritted his teeth, almost in pain. "You'll be okay with putting Foxtrot back together, right? Just wait until the force field dies down and it should be safe."

"What if it doesn't?" Streak asked, climbing atop the plane's wing carefully and poking a claw at the force field. With a start, he fell back at the crackling of electricity through his claws.

"A force field like that shouldn't be able to sustain itself long. If it doesn't give soon, the electrical system will. Worst case, he'll need some new batteries and a reboot. Like Rush… except… less, I suppose."

"What?!" The plane disengaged his parking brakes for a split second. "...not spooking or anything. Who's Rush?"

Streak sighed. "Nobody… he's gone now. Flew away somewhere… nobody knows where he is. Not even us," he answered truthfully.

"...you guys keep a lot of secrets," Foxtrot observed, immediately shifting his train of thought when text appeared in his field of vision. _LOW POWER. SYSTEM SHUTDOWN INITIATED._ "Um… Felix? Am I gonna die or something?"

The force field flickered, dimming considerably. "...not forever. Just until we can restart you."

"I hope you're not-"


	10. Chapter 9

_SYSTEM RESTARTING._ "Geez! What the-"

"No time for that," Felix interrupted. The car looked distraught, covered in dust and the occasional dent from having been out and about. The hangar was turned upside down with clutter and emptied storage containers… along with what looked like a couple destroyed computers… frosted over, torn apart inside by ice crystals. Nothing he saw could be of any use to Them, he knew that much. "The government's traced your location. All of our locations."

"How do you know? How long was I down?"

Felix sighed, trying to be patient. "It's sundown, same day. Don't ask what time it is, because I'm honestly clueless. Took a bit longer than I thought to get a hold of the batteries you needed. And, if you couldn't tell already, Streak and I aren't exactly welcome where They go. You're the last thing that had to be finished… and then we're getting out of here. Well… the others went ahead already."

Foxtrot rolled forwards a little, trying to get a better look through the open hangar doors out of slight curiosity. There was a transport plane on the runway. "...I still don't remember anything."

"Your memories are encrypted… to the point where there's probably only one or two people that know how to unlock them. Those people aren't me. I know you have no reason to trust me, but I _did_ try."

"Well, crap. Thanks anyway… but crap."

"That's not the pressing issue right now, though. Do you remember what I said about you being bugged?"

It didn't even take a second for Foxtrot to realize what Felix was saying. "Clara?"

"And Dottie. They're looking for you, Streak, myself, and I don't know how many others. Any escape has to happen _now,_ but I can't risk you coming with us. The road should be long enough for an emergency takeoff if you-"

"I'm not leaving yet."

Felix paused, almost confused. "You're not going to-?"

"I will. Just not without Clara. I'm the one that got her in this mess. I'll get her out." The plane exited the hangar, not even waiting for a response. He could hear Felix's powerful engine engage, quickly fading away from the town, the epicenter of what could only be described as a military invasion.

Official-looking vehicles were scattered everywhere, fanning out from their central location and beginning to call others from their homes. The purple forklift from earlier had already been detained, desperately arguing with a Jeep as another official emerged from the Fill N' Fly with several papers and books. Contraband information. Typical.

With all the commotion, they hadn't noticed Foxtrot. Probably better that way. Not to mention Clara was also going to kill him as soon as she saw him… wherever she was. She couldn't have gone far with this many military vehicles around.

"Fox!" A forklift called out, rolling over to him sternly. "Don't you dare pull _anything_ like that again. I seriously thought you went rogue and there were people in the control center saying you needed to be executed before you could-"

"Hi, Rose," Foxtrot said simply, rolling his eyes and ignoring her rant. "Did I get what I needed to get?"

"You blew up the wrong hangar."

"They destroyed their equipment anyway. I just came from there… Shiftwell's gone, though. Sped off as soon as I left."

"Which way?"

"There's only one road," Foxtrot said, exasperated.

"We'll head him off. Does the dragon fly?"

"Why does _everyone_ know about the stupid dragon BUT me. Yes, it flies. It has wings. Heck, it even _talks_." He flared his control surfaces in annoyance.

"Cool it." The forklift pressed a button on her headset, "Apache 2-2-3, we've got a large blue dragon and a silver Jaguar leaving town. Suspects confirmed to be Shiftwell and the pet of Project 36." A dark helicopter flew out from behind the nearby bluffs, already in pursuit. Rose listened intently to the other side. "NO. Take them ALIVE. Yes, the dragon, too."

"...what are you guys doing with Clara?"

"The mix-breed?" She clarified, to which Foxtrot nodded slightly. "Well, the whole reason we let you stay was to recruit her, wasn't it? She's in that hangar over there for now," she said, gesturing to the Fill N' Fly. "They're trying to figure out which base to put her at."

"What if she says no?"

"Doesn't matter. You helped prove she can't be in civilian society without being a problem. And she already has a record of violence."

He tried not to wince at the thought. "...can I at least talk to her?"

"I don't see why not. You're already dented enough that no one'll notice."

" _Thanks_ ," he said, voice thick with sarcasm. He rolled towards the hangar anyways, knocking on the door a couple times with his wing before going inside.

The plane jumped, spinning around with such a force that it nearly knocked her off balance. In her eyes was both defeat and anger, and her lips were curled up in a wild grimace. Upon seeing Foxtrot, she calmed some, but it was evident that she feared him as well. "What did you do," she asked, her voice gentle and trembling, "What happened?"

Foxtrot took a breath, trying to carefully word what he was about to say… but he couldn't. He never could. "...I didn't mean for them to show up this soon, I swear… they weren't after you at first… I was supposed to blow up the lab and get out. That's it. And then I met you… the only way I could stay was telling them I was gonna try to recruit you. I didn't think they'd actually follow up on it.".

"What's going to happen now," she asked with a stronger voice, "I won't fight for them. I _can't_ fight for them… not after what happened to you."

"...they'll make you, one way or another. They're gonna load you onto the transport plane out there and take you to an Air Force base for military optimization. It's protocol for new cadets," he told her. At least those words were somewhat rehearsed. He didn't have to think about it.

"And what about you?" She asked, her voice small, but serious. Her eyes betrayed no sign of exaggeration. "They'll have to kill me before they separate me from you again, Foxtrot."

"You don't understand… this is all I do. Flushing out traitors and finding planes like you for the government." He closed his eyes, sighing slightly. "I'm not him. I won't ever be again. That life is gone." He could hear shouting outside… one-sided arguing, more than anything.

Clara was stuck between a rock and a hard place. "You _are_ him. You might not remember, but you're still Foxtrot. _My_ Foxtrot. And I'm not giving up on you that easily. If you won't fight for yourself, I will."

"I'm not the one that needs fighting-"

"Okay, the base cleared her." A forklift - the one that had been shouting just a minute ago - rolled into the room to join the others. None of them were paying much attention to the planes in the room. "Mechanic wasn't too happy about it, but at least he knows mix-breeds."

"Where?"

"Arizona. Luke."

Yet another forklift glanced almost apologetically at Clara. "...there isn't anywhere else that'd be able to...?"

"Only if we wanna put her at a base that has less experience." The other forklift was silent, her expression protesting. "Luke gave the clearance, so we're taking her there. End of story."


	11. Chapter 10

"Told ya I wasn't the one that needed fighting," Foxtrot muttered, putting himself a little ways away from the situation. He didn't even recognize the base they were talking about, and he could already tell that it was bad. However a base could be bad, anyways.

Clara's eyes lit up in recognition and excitement, however. "Foxtrot… that's where my sister is. That's where Tera is," she looked more alive now than he had seen her yet. For a moment, at least… her face fell as some unknown thought passed through her mind. "What about this town? You've been nearly ripping it apart… what about its residents here? What about Foxtrot?"

"Propwash Junction is a cesspool for traitors. 'Tearing it apart' is a security measure for the good of the _planet_ ," the first forklift said quickly, "We can't have people working for anyone but the Government. That's why the superiors have vehicles like Foxtrot… his control center will find another risky town eventually, and they'll send him or someone else to go check it out. That's just how it works."

"Tearing the town apart…" she repeated in a hollow tone, "Not all of us are traitors… what will you do to them?"

"The town will be under military rule for a while. Traitors are either killed or repurposed… anyone that isn't a traitor won't be impacted much." The loud whirr of a helicopter sounded like it was just above the ground.

Foxtrot moved over to the door, pushing it open slightly out of curiosity. A heavily damaged Felix was suspended from a steel-cable net… the helicopter was trying its best to put him down gently, but it seemed to be uncertain of itself. "Well, they caught him."

"Which means we should get out of here. That runway needs to be clear," the forklift started, "Now, Clara, are you going to cooperate? We don't wanna do this the hard way if we don't have to."

She didn't want to. Her mind was racing, a strange mixture of emotions coursing through her. There were several odd things on her mind - things that scared her. "What happens to Otter?" She suddenly blurted, "He's taking care of my sister's dog… she's at Luke. If I'm going, can I bring her dog with me? What about Foxtrot? I don't mind if he leaves, but I need to know I'll see him again soon. Promise me that and I won't cause trouble… please…" There were thousands of others things on her mind: Felix, Streak, Dusty, Leadbottom, Dottie, Chug… everyone. What would happen to them? What exactly would they do with _her?_

The forklift hesitated, thinking it over for a second. "Foxtrot, go talk to Rose and tell her what's going on. You can be repainted at Luke. They have to accommodate hunters anyway," she told him, the plane obeying immediately and leaving the hangar. "As for the dog, it's unsafe. Most of the planes there are too unstable to be around animals. If the plane herself is competent, then they'll send for the dog separately."

"You're dancing around my question," Clara stated with clarity, "What will happen to Foxtrot? I understand he has a job, but he's my husband. Whether or not he remembers, he believes it as much as I. For his sake, mine, and yours, we can't lose each other again."

The forklift was obviously flustered, being pressed for time. "None of us have that kind of power, so I can't promise _anything_. It's up to his handler, the superiors, the base, and _him_. They _all_ have to be in agreement if anything is to be changed, because, as of now, he has no reason to be making trips like that."

Clara wanted to lash out, to make her promise, but a sense of cold logic held her in chains. She couldn't attack or she'd be dead, and if she were dead she felt she'd have failed Foxtrot. She was fighting for him, and fighting Them wasn't going to accomplish that goal. She slumped back. "I'm assuming we leave now, then…"

"Yep," the forklift replied, carefully watching for a second to make sure Clara really wasn't going to fight. It didn't seem like she was, so she went over to the hangar door and opened it, the other forklift in the room staying close to the plane. "We're just going to the transport plane on the runway, okay?"

"Okay," she agreed with defeat. "What's going to happen to me when I get to the base?"

The forklift attempted to formulate an answer - something that hopefully wouldn't make it worse or cause the plane to lash out. "They're gonna make it so you can keep up with other F-18s when you start training." She led her out of the hangar, trying to ignore the carnage nearby. The helicopter sent to capture the escaping traitors had kept them alive, but only just.

"You know I'm not a fighter, right?" Clara stated with slight annoyance. "I'm a r-"

"You mean to tell me you're tearing this town apart civilian and all just because you _suspect_ there are traitors here? I understand Felix and I'm going to pretend I understand how Streak is involved l, but…" It was Otter and he sounded angry. Clara couldn't remember a time when the F-18 had raised his voice. "You're not going about this in any good way. If you need to flush out traitors then be my guest, but you're ruining a community that's been here for centuries!"

"What's gonna happen to him?" Clara asked as she listened. She suddenly grew frightened, glancing about, attempting to find Foxtrot: a foundation, someone she could trust… Or, she thought she could trust.

"Directing your anger at us is going nowhere," the forklift countered, noting that it was yet another war-plane that had spoken, "We have our orders, which is something _you_ should know all too well. The original plan didn't even involve the military - just a scout - but then he discovered more criminal activity that had to be addressed."

"I understand," Otter seethed, "But I also know that there are many other more _civilized_ ways to go about this." He seemed to be shouting at nobody in particular, blind eyes staring vacantly at the horizon. "I'm sure if I could _see_ I would like it even less. What do you plan to do with us, hmm? You know you can't just come in here ravaging the town and leave without any questions asked. Even Leadbottom will have something to question once he finds out his fields were ripped up in all this shenanigans. If you plan on leaving the innocent here, I need _something_ to tell those who are staying. I'll have more than enough clients after you go busting through here."

The forklift turned to face Otter, regardless of if he could see her or not. "We kept destroyed crops to a minimum, I assure you. Fuel is too valuable to waste. As for the innocents, you tell them this: there is an unimaginable threat coming here. So large that it could destroy everything our superiors have worked to achieve. Any weakness on our side _will_ mean the end of the world, and drastic action is necessary to make sure that, one: the military is as large and strong as possible, and two: any traitors are destroyed _before_ that threat arrives."

"So you'd like me to throw them into panic," he grumbled, resisting his urge to pace at the dilemma. "I can't just tell them that it's possible the end of the world is near. The town's already stirred up enough to cause paranoia." Otter sighed, for the first time picking up on the sound of Clara's engine. "I'm assuming that's what the transport plane is for then, to send you to some far-off place never to be seen again? How am I supposed to keep this place sane when people are disappearing and being beaten into submission and taken away?"

"Because the world's _not_ gonna end, so long as people just let the government do what it's doing. That's why the fighters are being drafted. They're not going away forever. Just until the war is over." It was odd, considering she was talking to another fighter… but his blindness was something that wasn't easily fixed. He would've been in the military already if that wasn't the circumstance.

"People are going to want more answers," Otter hissed, "I know you have your reasons for not telling me the whole of what's going on." With all the ruckus, his wings ached to fly, his mind wanted to fight. It was a terrible infestation of feelings. "But I can see what I can do."

"I've told you all I know," the forklift countered, almost indignantly. Even so, she made a mental note of the plane's existence. The government might still be interested. "Trusting is all anyone can do. And now, Clara, we _need_ to get going-"

"Hey! Wait!" It was Foxtrot. "Clara, I'm coming with you. I gotta wait 'till that plane takes off to follow, but I'll be there, okay?"

She managed a soft smile, "I'll see you there then." She wished desperately she could fly herself to Luke, but she supposed that'd be taking the risk of her running - not that she would. "How long's the flight?"

"Two and a half, maybe three hours. Plus security if it's needed…" the forklift responded, keeping an eye on both Clara and Foxtrot as she led her to the transport plane. Foxtrot in particular was acting oddly. She chalked it up to a glitch of some sort. "...they don't see a ton of outsiders... other than trainee fleets."

Clara grimaced at the idea of being locked up in the back of a transport plane for more than an hour, but continued in fear of being punished anyhow. "So you're saying I'm going there to be trained." _To kill?_ She didn't like -no- she hated that idea.

"It depends on what you're capable of." The doors on the transport plane were already open, the forklift carefully guiding Clara up the ramp. "They'll put you where you fit best. If it's there, you'll stay there. If not, you'll be trained at another base. The only reason you're going to Luke first is because you're not a standard model, and the mechanic there is good with planes like that. Well, optimizing them to fight, anyway."

Again, she grimaced. "Lovely." Changing the subject, she asked, "Do you know where my sister is? What she's doing? Is she still at Luke?"

"How should I know?" The forklift was lying - that was part of the reason why the base didn't want Clara to begin with. "From what it sounds like, though… she could be anywhere. I'm sorry..."

"What? Did she run away again?" Clara asked bitterly, not expecting any answer. "If you plan on kidnapping us one by one, you should keep better track of us."

"I'm not saying that. I'm saying I don't know. I'm not the one in charge of all that… but I do know that fighters don't run." The transport doors slammed shut, florescent lights brightening the space inside as the plane's engines engaged.

"Then you don't know my sister," she flinched, jumping slightly at the rumble of engines beneath her tires.

The forklift's voice grew soft, barely audible over everything else. "Maybe it's _you_ that doesn't know her."


	12. Chapter 11

Clara's gaze shot down cold upon the forklift, but she didn't respond. She didn't want to argue over whether or not she knew her sister well - it only mattered that Clara knew. "What exactly's gonna happen to me at Luke anyways?"

There was silence for a moment. The forklift rolled halfway up a ramp to another part of the plane, almost making sure no one else could hear her. "They're gonna double-check to make sure you're a good fit for the military. If it turns out that you're not, you'll get to leave like nothing ever happened. If you are, which is more than likely, you'll be drafted. They'll modify you to run on jet engines, carry weapons and have all the other capabilities of a normal F-18, and you'll go through training… and that's it. You'll be a soldier."

"A soldier," Clara said dryly. "Even though I'm a racer."

"Lots of racers end up soldiers at some point. You've heard of Ripslinger, haven't you? He's the same way."

"Ha! But Ripslinger would stop at nothing to win," Clara pointed out, "I never have had any want to cheat like that. Never even an inkling."

"Cheating isn't war, though. That alone doesn't make someone a fighter… it's actions and temperament that do. And, frankly, you have the record for it."

"A record. Really?" She scoffed in disbelief. "Me?"

"Yes, you," the forklift stated pointedly. "Maybe not a _criminal_ record, but a record nonetheless. You took the weapons from Foxtrot when he gave you the option, wanting him to teach you to fight instead of using maneuverability as a defense. Not to mention the report that you'd been in a near-deadly fight with another plane… and we only found _that_ when we raided the town."

She pinned the forklift with a cold gaze. "I didn't _want_ those weapons other than the fact maneuverability is NOT a good form of self defense." She couldn't spit back an explanation for her attack on Tera, however. She still didn't believe she could've done that, especially to her sister.

"Doesn't matter. Any plane that didn't have at least _part_ of what it takes to be a fighter would have refused… that, and you're already speaking like a tactician. How would a _racer_ know what good self-defence is?"

"It's common sense!" Clara argued, "Anyone who knows _anything_ knows that weapons are better than nothing!"

"The only planes able to use weapons are military… and there aren't many exceptions to that rule."

"Then _I_ am one of the few exceptions," Clara nearly screeched. "I am _not_ a fighter! I _can't_ be!"

The forklift's voice turned deadly. She'd won, and she already knew it. " _You_ are almost one hundred percent F-18, which is _not_ an exception. It's _textbook_. Whoever gave you that engine when they built you _obviously_ wasn't thinking clearly, or even in your best interest, because you're fighting me right now."

Clara's jaw dropped open, mouthing silent words, or at least trying to. And when she did speak, it was with a hysterical amusement. "You're kidding me. You are all kidding me. This is all a joke…or a dream. I'll wake up and Foxtrot - my Foxtrot- will be snoring next to me loudly in Propwash Junction and Tera'll be up to her antics. My dad'll still be wrong about me being a fighter. I'll still be a racer. No, I've _always_ been a racer."

"Sorry, but this is reality. Not even civilians have lives that peaceful anymore." The forklift had settled a little ways away from Clara, resigned to the fact that she was still going to be arguing for a while. "Foxtrot is a scout - the one that caught and recruited you, no less - your sister has likely been drafted already, and your father is probably right to assume that you're a warplane."

"My father… he was wrong," Clara said, eyes distant now as if in a dream, "Yes, very wrong. My mother knew that, and that's why they split. He only wanted me to be a fighter, but I wasn't… and I proved that. Do you know how many races I've completed? I feel like it's hundreds now. I've won a few of them too. And Foxtrot? He left his squadron for me. He chose me over everything he'd worked for… he'd never choose to recruit me like that. No, he wouldn't… he hasn't…" She continued to go on, throwing away reality and inserting the life she'd had before, a life that was now only a fantasy. And with each word she said, she grew more confident in her lies, until in her eyes she saw herself in Propwash. She was no longer on a transport plane, and Foxtrot no longer forgot her. Tera, even, was still there, but a peaceful, thoughtful plane rather than a stubborn, wild fool.

"Military planes do well in racing sometimes," the forklift said simply, "...but it can't be that way right now. Maybe not for a while… or maybe not ever again. I don't know… no one's expecting you to accept it all right away, though. There isn't a plane that has." She had to hope that Clara would snap out of it sooner rather than later… there was no telling what would happen if she didn't.

"You have no say in it," she stated almost agreeably, "You don't have any say in what I do or choose. It's all just a dream, you know. I can do or say anything I like and I'll still find myself fine in the morning." Her face grew contemplative, "Although I never quite had all that much control over my dreams… BUT no bother! I can play along… do whatever the heck I like."

The forklift sighed. "I _promise_ you that you're not dreaming. When we land and those doors open, you're going to be on a military base. If you sleep on the way, you're _going_ to wake back up here. It's not pleasant, but it's reality, and telling yourself that it's a dream isn't making anything better."

She didn't listen. "Doesn't everyone in a dream think they're in reality? Why should I listen to you?"

"Because I'm _right_. Go to sleep, I dare you. It won't matter what you dream, because when you wake up you'll still be here."

Clara shook her nose. "That's what they all say…"

"Fine. Believe whatever you want. I wish I could reboot you to prove it, but you're NOT dreaming," she said, obviously annoyed. She wasn't watching her language as she should have been.

The plane payed no mind, simply glaring at the forklift for a moment before going back to the same dreamy look. "How long does it take to get to the base anyways?"

"You already asked that question. And, frankly, I have no idea at this point. It's only been a couple minutes." The forklift was trying not to shout in the attempt to get through to Clara. Why wouldn't this plane just listen to _reason_? Maybe something was wrong with the AI itself.

"You sound cross," she pointed out with the slightest hint of a smirk, "Why?"

"Because you're annoying!" She said, almost complaining. "It's not anyone's choice to be here, and it's certainly not mine. I wish you'd just-" she stopped, not wanting to continue. She wasn't allowed.

"Then why is this even your job?" Clara pestered.

"Because it is. You wouldn't understand."

"Try me."

The forklift paused, sighing. "They wanted me here. Just like They want you to be a fighter. And if I don't do as They say, They make bad things happen… I'm risking it just by telling you. And if _you_ don't obey… I can't even imagine. They'll do just about anything to make fighters behave."

"Like erase memory…" Clara said darkly, a flicker of understanding and reality entering her eyes.

"Worst case. They don't like doing it, but They do… it's not fun for anyone, though. You lose everything, even flight experience… puts you back in basic training when you would've been commander material."

"It takes your life away," she snarled, "Nobody deserves that. It's like killing them… but they still live. Why would you do that." She inched backwards a bit, trying to get as far away from Rose as possible.

The forklift paid no mind. "Like I said: when someone doesn't behave, that's one of the things that could happen… because they _will_ behave afterwards. They have to be retrained… but at the very least they're loyal, and that's what matters."

"What _matters?_ What _matters_ is that people have a right to make their own choices! You can't just go wiping entire lives away just because someone pokes you with a stick!"

"...you don't understand… I'm not wiping memories just for the sake of it. They can order it on _anyone_ that doesn't do their job… if I don't wipe memories when it's called for, They'll order it on _me_."

"It doesn't mean it's right," Clara said with a strong tone. "If _you_ don't want your mind wiped then why is it better them than you? What if _you_ were the one whose mind was being wiped by a person who says 'better you than me'?"

"Then I'd understand why they were doing it," she shot back, "Because if that person didn't, They'd find someone else that would, and then there'd be _two_ people being reset instead of just one. If I stood up and refused, it'd only add to Their power, and that's the _last_ thing-" Rose paused, turning away. "We shouldn't be talking about this."

"Why not? I don't care what They hear," Clara hissed. "They probably already know I hate whoever They are."

"Which is making you a candidate for total system reset. Every sentence you speak is putting you in an even deeper hole."

"They have nothing else to take from me," Clara spat. "My own husband doesn't remember me… my sister… I don't know where she is or what's happened to her. You're taking me away from my home, away from my career. Might as well erase my mind too! There's nothing left of worth to me that you haven't destroyed already!"

"They might," the forklift said darkly, "And like it or not, home and career can change… you're capable of serving in the military, so the government needs you there. There's already plenty of racers."

"So why don't They build more planes," Clara spat with venom.

"They build more drones every day. What They need are commanders, and those _can't_ be built right away."

" _Hah!_ You think _I'd_ be a good commander? I haven't had the smallest bit of experience in war!"

"It's a combination of training, instinct and street smarts, and street smarts only come through experience. Drones don't have it."

"You're forgetting I don't have training and I hardly have instinct," she grinned, but there was nobody in her eyes.

" _You're_ forgetting that airbases are _designed_ for training planes. And your instincts already showed themselves."

Clara's eyes strayed to watching the horizon and landscape below, but her eyes did not see the blurred horizon. "Good thing this is a dream then."

"It's not-" she cut herself off, shooting a glare at the plane. "What does it matter. You won't believe me. You won't believe _anyone_ until they reboot you. There's no point in even _saying_ anything, is there?"

"Nothing you say is real," Clara said simply, "So no. No, there's no point."

The forklift practically growled in frustration. "Fine. Then I give up. There's paperwork that needs to be done, anyway." She went partway up the ramp, stopping for a second before looking back. "Not that it's gonna matter to you, but I really hope you don't become another horror story. That base is infamous."

"It's already a horror story."


	13. Chapter 12

Long flights were the perfect excuse to soar. Foxtrot let the rush of the swirling wind overcome him, thoughts thankfully distracted from his most recent capture. The plane being transported. The one who said she knew of his past, one that was never to be recalled by himself. He hoped she'd forgive him one day… then maybe he'd still have a chance with her.

He crossed the final range of mountains, revealing a vast, massively populated desert valley beneath him. No security greeted him at first, leading him into a false sense of comfort. He'd already been cleared, so there wouldn't be a problem. He quickly drew closer to the base, which was practically on the other side of the valley… but when he finally got a visual on the place, he saw a lot more 'nightlife' than normal. None of the floodlights were off yet, even if it was way too late for them to be on. "Foxtrot 117 contacting Luke Air Force Base," he stated curtly.

"Cleared for runway two," the tower responded, acknowledging the previous clearance before the plane could even request to land. It didn't even take a minute for Foxtrot to do as such, quickly getting away to make room for the transport behind him, which touched down mere seconds afterwards. As soon as it had slowed down enough, it immediately rolled towards an open hangar, where a rather annoyed gray forklift was waiting.

The transport plane stopped, allowing Rose to slip out of a smaller door and greet the other forklift. "...I know this is short-notice."

"You think? I've got a project here that _can't_ have contact with this plane, and what do you do? Bring her here anyways, even when I _specifically_ say-"

"I know. But there's no other way around it. You're the only one that's good with mix-breeds."

"Her base model _is_ F-18, right?"

"Yeah, it is."

"So she's gonna be in the Navy."

"Probably. Foxtrot wants her to be a scout, but it depends on what They want to do."

 _Foxtrot's a scout now?_ "Whatever They do, at least she won't be here long."

Rose sighed, trying not to get annoyed. "Okay. She needs to be rebooted after everything's done… she thinks it's all a dream. And don't even _think_ about messing with her programming."

"Fine," he said with resentment, "Might reboot her beforehand, though."

"That's cruel."

"If more systems than that aren't running right, she's gonna glitch."

"Already knew _that_ … but it doesn't mean it's not cruel," she retaliated, changing the subject. "You got the initial scan we ran?"

"Yep. And she's not gonna fight?"

"No promises on that one."

"Doesn't matter. I was just wondering." He rolled over to the transport plane, pressing a button to open the large doors, Foxtrot lurking close by, supposedly as extra security.

A rather annoyed looking plane greeted them with a sour tongue. "And _who_ are _you_ then?"

"Anthony Vincent, but you can call me Tony if you want. Everyone does," he said simply, not fazed in the slightest, "And from what I've been told, I'm gonna be handling getting you drafted."

" _Great,_ " she snarled, still looking dazed but acting along with the 'dream' she perceived reality to be. "The mechanic Tera hates. This day can't get any better, can it?"

"It definitely can if you don't cooperate," he threatened slightly. "Now, the sooner we get this done, the sooner we can figure out where to station you, so come on."

"Get _what_ done?" Clara blurted, snapping into actuality for a moment. "What are you gonna do to me?" Her brakes locked on instinct, less so because she was afraid, but because there was some inkling of a thought tickling the back of her mind to fight.

"We can't have an F-18 with a propeller, can we? They're normally jets," he explained, trying to be rational with her. "That, and general drafting procedures. Making sure you can carry weapons, et cetera."

"You want to remove my prop? I don't even have jets! There's no possibility of me even _flying_ without my prop!"

"We have the engines you need - all we have to do is make sure they fit, which is no big deal. I've seen a lot worse." He moved to be closer to the side, allowing Clara a path out of the transport plane. "So are you going to come out of there, or are we going to have to do this the hard way? Your choice."

Clara, with great hesitation, rolled forwards. "I can die without dignity or I can die with courage," she muttered under her breath.

Tony picked up on the words anyways, gesturing slightly towards the open hangar - not that Clara could go anywhere else. "You are _not_ going to die," he countered, "Killing you wouldn't help the government. I'm not even in the killing business. That's the aircraft."

"Is that really any better?" Clara snarled viciously, cautiously complying with Tony's orders. "I think I'd rather die."

"That's what they all say." He guided her to a spot in the center of the hangar, quickly finding a lift to enable him to get to her cockpit. "First things first, though, I have to run a total systems reboot on you. Something isn't functioning right."

"You mean you're going to do what you did to Foxtrot?" she asked, casting her gaze towards the F-18, raising her voice some in hopes he would come to her rescue. He _had_ to. It was a nightmare she found she could not wake from.

Tony paused, looking genuinely confused. "What?"

"It probably wasn't you," Foxtrot said quickly, rolling into the room. "Memory wipe, from what I've been told… you're not, are you?"

"Oh... yeah, no, that's not what this is. She just needs to refresh." He flipped the cockpit cover open, finding a small panel of switches. "It's only gonna take a second, okay?"

Clara flinched, but tried her best to contain the instinct to fight back and flee. "Okay…" she agreed between clenched teeth.

Tony quickly deactivated every connection on the panel, the plane falling into an eerie silence, seemingly dead. Her eyes vanished, leaving only a glass panel between her internal systems and the outside world. Foxtrot had looked away by then, rather uncomfortable with what he had to witness.

Within seconds, however, the mechanic reversed what he did, Clara powering up once again. Hopefully it was what she needed.

The plane looked towards Foxtrot, then towards Tony, feeling disoriented. It took her a moment to be able to find her voice. "Is that… is that all?"

"Depends. Do you feel any different than before?"

Clara again swept her eyes to focus on Foxtrot, giving him a confused look. "Am I supposed to feel different? Clearer, I guess…. But not _different_."

The F-18 looked away awkwardly. "...I'm about as clueless as you are."

Tony sighed, trying not to sound annoyed. "Do you still think all of this is a dream?"

"I _wish_ it was," Clara hissed, somewhat annoyed. "Are you done poking around in my cockpit, then? I'd _like_ to get back to Propwash as soon as possible, and the sooner you're done messing with me, the sooner I can do whatever the heck you want me to do and be done with it."

The forklift closed the covering on Clara's cockpit, getting down from the lift he was on. "I don't think you're understanding what's happening here. You're being drafted… there's no going back. Not in the foreseeable future, anyway." Foxtrot turned away in an attempt to avoid eye contact with Clara - Tony didn't know why the plane had even stayed in the hangar as long as he had. Normally someone in his position would leave.

Her eyes locked on Foxtrot's, forcing eye contact. She needed to hear it from him, not Tony… she would not believe that she couldn't return home. She simply couldn't. Not from _his_ mouth. "F… Foxtrot?"

"I kept trying to tell you, Clara. This is what I do. You wouldn't listen."

She felt stuck. "I… May I make a request?" she said, voice dry.

"And that is?" Tony said, more occupied with getting out tools and a few other things - he pushed a rack holding two new jet engines closer to the plane.

"Keep me with Foxtrot. I'll follow any order you ask of me… just please don't take me away from the only thing I have left," she said in a voice more demanding than questioning.

Foxtrot, however, looked genuinely confused. "But I _put_ you here... "

"But you're still my husband," she said with fire in her voice, "and if you hadn't put me here, somebody else would have."

Clara had a point… and while he was somewhat concerned for her sanity, Foxtrot allowed himself a small smile. "...that was partly why I wanted to get you to be a hunter. I don't know if They'll let you, but at least you'd be at the same home base as me."

"If you wanna do that, I won't stop you," Tony said simply, "I'll send Them a request just to clarify, but I don't see why they'd say no. You can't stay here… and the only other place for you would be on an aircraft carrier."

"I couldn't…. I couldn't do that," she said, "I promise I won't cause trouble if you let me be with Foxtrot. That's all I ask."

"Putting you as a scout is the only way to do that." Tony quickly went to the computer in the room, crafting a request as he spoke. "I can't promise anything, but I should know for sure soon enough."

It took a moment, but once he'd finished, he went back over to Clara. He quickly double-checked the measurements on both the plane herself and the engines that were destined to be hers. "Well, looks like everything matches up," he said, moving the lift he was using in order to get to her main panel. "It may be a complicated modification, but I've already done something like this before… and whoever built you must've seen this coming, which is going to make my job a lot easier."

Clara squeezed her eyes shut. "And you're sure I can't do whatever it is you want me to do without being turned into a jet?"

"It's protocol. That's just how it is," he responded swiftly, turning towards Foxtrot for a second. "...if you don't wanna be here, I wouldn't blame you. I can repaint you after this is done, if you'd like to stay at the scouts' hangar until then."

The plane froze, looking to Clara in complete uncertainty. "...whatever you want me to do, I'll be good with it."

"You can go if you want to," she said fearfully, eyes locked on Foxtrot's. "You don't have to stay."

"But you're scared… Clara, I'm staying."

"Just keep a perimeter. I have to be able to work," Tony said simply, not caring about much else.

"Thanks, Foxy," Clara said, breathing a sigh of relief. She'd never have made him stay… but it was comforting knowing he had decided to.

Foxtrot tried not to wince at the nickname… or at what he'd sentenced himself to watch. Tony was already starting to take the mix-breed's propeller off. "No problem."


	14. Chapter 13

It took all the strength in the world not to fight the modifications Tony was putting her through. She wanted to disappear and shrink into nothingness… perhaps having her mind wiped would be far more humane after all. "H-how long is this going to take?" she asked, stuttering as he removed her propeller.

"Let me put it this way: if it takes more than a day and a half, I'm shutting you down for the rest of it. No matter what. I could do that now, if you wanted… but it might be more painful for you when I put you back online."

"Shut-shutting me down?" she asked, knowing instinctively what it meant. "I'd rather… rather be awake."

"That's what I figured." Tony put Clara's propeller off to the side of the hangar, leaning it up against the wall for the time being… he could tell by Foxtrot's expression, however, that it was already starting to be too much for him. "You okay, Foxtrot?"

Any hint of emotion vanished. "I'm fine."

"No one's gonna blame you if you want to leave… especially not later."

"I said _I'm fine_ ," he growled, eyes blazing. "Just finish her before you have to shut her down. Please."

"I plan on it." The forklift got on the lift again, making sure Clara's panel was securely propped open. "...and I'm gonna try not to make this hurt too much."

"Thanks," she gave her best false grin towards Tony, looking rather sick herself. "You really don't have to stay, Foxy."

"Why the heck is everyone so concerned about me! SHE'S the one that's-"

"I don't want to have to worry about two planes instead of one. I already _know_ it's not gonna be easy for Clara."

"I know my limits," he growled.

"Alright…" Tony turned his attention back to Clara, knowing all too well that her reaction was fake. He didn't blame her… in fact, he was surprised she _wasn't_ fighting. "Let's get this started, then."

"Okay…" Clara said in a voice tight and soft with fear. "I'm ready."

"Good," he replied, having picked up a wrench and beginning to work on disconnecting her engine - she wouldn't need it once he got the jets on her. "Just keep up the good behavior… I'll be able to get done a lot faster if you don't fight."

"I… I'll try not to," she said meekly, flinching as he worked, entire body stiff and tensed, as if a moment away from trying to run. Perhaps she was.

"Foxtrot, get the door," Tony ordered, the other plane in the room quickly obeying and shutting the hangar door the rest of the way. "Just a precaution," he explained absentmindedly. "I know you're trying, but there's still a risk… there always is."

Making her feel trapped simply made the need to escape worse. "I know…" but logic would not help her in such a situation.

The forklift was quiet for a minute, mentally taking notes on what he was doing - and, more importantly, the plane's structure, which proved to be even more like an actual F-18 than he originally thought. "Whoever built you is a genius," he said, more to himself than anything. He quickly checked Clara's 'vitals' before continuing any further. "Oh no… please don't do this… if you fight I'm not gonna have a choice…"

"I'm… not… trying…" she said between clenched teeth. She honestly wasn't, but she was too afraid of the coming events to relax and too afraid of being shut down to allow her instincts to take over. The stress on her processors made it so she was on the verge of crying.

Foxtrot tried to move a little closer to her. He was becoming more uncomfortable with the situation by the minute, but he shoved the feeling aside. "Clara… is there anything I can do? You… you can't suffer like that."

She seemed to calm some having Foxtrot near her. "No… I don't think so," she said, her voice still trembling with fear, but not as much as before. "Thanks, though."

He sighed, closing his eyes for a second. "...I wish there was… I had no idea-"

"Foxtrot, you need to get back. You're gonna get hit by something." Tony again - though he seemed almost robotic in his order, paying much more attention to everything else than he was to the plane he was speaking to..

The F-18 did as he was told, somewhat annoyed, " _Talking_ is still permitted, isn't it?"

"Yep."

He rolled his eyes, forgetting about the mechanic for the time being. Maybe he could still keep Clara's mind off of what was happening to her. "Well, at least there's that… besides, you never said: how _did_ a plane like you end up in Propwash?"

"Oh… you don't remember," she said softly, closing her eyes and smiling a little. "I was applying for one of my first air races… Tera was there, and she found me and convinced me to fly. I suppose you don't know, but at the time I was mute…" she told the story of how she'd been unofficially without a home and how Tera had invited her to Propwash, where Dottie had fixed her ability to speak and she'd finally been able to tell Tera about her own origins: about their mother, and what had happened to her. The more she spoke, the more relaxed she became, until the moments were not longer spent in the present, but in the past. She could almost feel each memory as if it were playing out in front of her.

Foxtrot, however, was listening intently and asking questions to keep the conversation going, fighting the urge to sleep as the night hours passed… but at the same time, it didn't really feel like it took long at all.

Before anyone knew it, the morning sun was streaming in through the few windows in the building, and, as the forklift had said, Clara looked almost completely like an F-18, save the fact that she was a couple inches shorter than normal. No big deal. Just an odd calibration. Tony closed the last panel on one of her new jet engines, quickly checking that everything else was fine otherwise. He wasn't interrupting her storytelling before he had to. That, and he was somewhat weary anyway, even if he could easily go several more hours without sleep. Which he was planning on doing.

Once he was satisfied with the result, he gently tapped Clara on the wing a couple times. "Hey, you're done. Can you run a systems check to make sure I didn't miss anything?"

"I'm done?" she asked in bewilderment, only just now beginning to feel the strange sensation of new engines. It _hurt_. Even so, she blinked and ran a scan. "Nothing. You didn't miss anything," she responded in a slightly robotic voice. Foxtrot moved back a little, almost startled, but it came more from exhaustion than anything.

"Good. The only thing left now is paint, which I can't do until-" The computer lit up behind Tony as if on cue. "Funny how that works." he went back over to it, finding that They had already responded to his earlier inquiry. He quickly clicked on it, the message emblazoning itself across the screen.

 **Holloway, Clara - Assignment: Luke Air Force Base**

 **Darnell, Christopher - Transfer Ordered - New Assignment: Luke Air Force Base**

 **THESE ORDERS ARE NON-NEGOTIABLE.**

"...great." Tony had half a mind to contest the message, but stopped mid-thought. They were Them. They always did what was best. "I'm assuming you're Darnell… neither of you should be staying here, though."

Foxtrot nodded slightly. "Looks as official as I've ever seen…" he said with a yawn, "but I'm a hunter. And F-18s are supposed to be Navy planes."

"Yeah. You know… maybe something glitched." He sent an error report instead of trying to challenge the assignment directly. The response came through mere seconds later.

 **THESE ORDERS ARE NON-NEGOTIABLE.**


	15. Chapter 14

The forklift sighed, trying to mask his annoyance. "I have no idea why They're so insistent on it, but I guess that's how it's gonna be. Whatever they want you doing here." He pulled out a couple canisters of paint, grabbing a roll of tape off a workbench and looking for his paint gun, which had likely been hidden by a prankster. Again.

"Foxtrot!" Clara nearly yelled out, forgetting the stiffness and aches in her body for the time being. "You and I can stay together… we'll work together!" Her voice expressed a desperate yet joyous tone, as if her worst fears had melted away. Perhaps they had.

He smiled a little, almost chuckling. "Yep. No more solo missions this way."

"You don't know that. You'll be together on the base, yes, but whether you have solo missions or not is up to your commander… whoever that's going to be. This was really sudden, so it could be a day or two before we figure that out." Tony eventually found the tool he was looking for (although, admittedly, it was only a couple benches over from where it typically was), going back over to Clara with a roll of paper and the tape. "I'm gonna have to cover your eyes," he warned, taking care not to accidentally startle her.

A bit like a horse, she was slightly spooked by Tony's movements. However, she pulled herself together. "Why do I need to be repainted?" she asked innocently, but with an edge embedded in her voice. "I don't see the purpose."

"Uniform colors and numbering are required…. that's just how it is. And I'm adding an anti-glare patch by your eyes for functionality reasons." He taped the paper across Clara's windshield, quickly moving to block off her landing gear and anything else that would possibly be harmed by wet paint. "People need to know that you're actually in the military and not just a civilian."

"I don't have any training… you can hardly call me a soldier. What purpose would I serve, anyways? I can't imagine being good at fighting. I'm rather useless, I think."

"Give it time. Basic training only takes a couple days, and most of the time planes know more about this field than they think. And, if not, then you learn." It took only a couple more minutes for Tony to finish what he was doing, grabbing the paint gun and beginning to spray a base coat on the plane's nose. The sooner he got done with everything, the sooner the questions would stop. He hoped.

Clara held her tongue as he sprayed her nose, itching for him to finish already. She was stiff and sore, and every movement Tony seemed to make made her more and more uncomfortable. Even the new coat of paint being applied made her feel less and less like herself and further away from home. It took all her concentration not to simply attempt to run, especially now that she dared not speak. It spooked her being unable to see on top of it all. She only wished Foxtrot could be close enough to touch her wing simply to reassure her all was okay.

Except he couldn't - he was banished to the other side of the hangar for the time being. "Why do you have to do paint _now?_ " he asked, a twinge of regret in his voice. He hated that Clara wasn't allowed to have the elegant blue swirls along her sides… they were pretty, and military colors were so boring.

"Because I'm not needed anywhere else at the moment, so I might as well." The forklift was obviously more focused on what he was doing - if he did it right, Clara would only need one base coat. He quickly moved on to the rest of her fuselage, coating it as evenly as he'd coated her nose.

Now able to talk, though the smell of paint that still hung in the air was putrid, Clara wanted to twist to glare at the forklift. The more she was painted, the less she felt like herself. However, she couldn't blame the vehicle for checking it off his to-do list, could she? She fought with herself for a moment. "So… any other surprise modifications before I can get out of here?" she asked bitterly.

"I wouldn't be painting you if there was. I only have time for this as it is… Foxtrot will have to wait. There's a test flight that I have to observe later, and They _still_ haven't assigned any more mechanics to cover when I'm out doing that."

"Don't you _sleep?_ " Foxtrot asked somewhat testily.

"That's not important." He finished what he was doing, going back to check the paint on the plane's nose - it'd dried already. Thank goodness They put funding into _that,_ at least. Making sure he'd touched up everything he needed to on the base coat, he quickly switched colors and grabbed a few stencils, making sure the numbers he was putting on her were correct. "Just give me a couple more minutes and you'll be done."

"Flight test?" Clara asked, "What do you mean?"

"We've got a couple experimental aircraft here. Their test flights are for research." Of course, he was being vague, possibly because he had to be. He was almost done with the details on her paintwork, anyway. It wasn't like there was very much to do in the first place - other than the anti-glare patch and her identification numbers, anyway.

"Oh," Clara said. A question was prickling at the back of her mind, however. "Tera's here," she said, "...or, she's supposed to be…"

The forklift ignored the statement, pretending as if he hadn't heard. Instead, he finished painting in the markings on her tail. "...there's normally more to it, but I can't add anything specific until They figure out _why_ you're stationed here," he said, carefully pulling the paper off her windshield. "This paint dries fast, but it still needs a bit to set completely. Try not to touch anything for a couple hours. There's a mirror over there is you want to see… most don't, but it's there."

Part of her wanted to see, part of her didn't. Deciding against it, she tried to pull her attention away from the fact she was no longer white and blue. "No thank you," she said in a rather strangled voice, moving closer to Foxtrot as soon as she knew she was allowed to move.

"It's not too bad," Foxtrot remarked quietly, careful not to risk hitting her as he turned a little.

"I think you two should probably go to the hangar we have for scouts… until we know what to do with you, anyway. Foxtrot needs to come back here either tonight or tomorrow morning to be repainted. Holloway, your basic training is going to start when we figure out what to do for an official flight instructor." At this point, Tony was just trying to go through the motions, even if there really wasn't any way he could. "Until then, Foxtrot can help get you flying again. Just make sure no one else is using the runway… and you should probably double-check with the tower, but I shouldn't have to remind you of that."

"...you're sure that's a good idea…?" Foxtrot asked, almost hesitant. The sudden responsibility practically blindsided him.

"Why wouldn't it be?"

"I've never taught someone how to fly."

He sighed. "Just _try_ helping her and see how it goes."

"I don't know. Are you even okay with this, Clara?"

Clara's eyes were fastened dully on Foxtrot. "I don't know…" she said uncertainly.

"So no. You can't make me risk someone like that."

"She'll be grounded until basics, then." He quickly glanced at the clock, pulling a map of the base up on the computer at the same time. "And now I've gotta go set things up. The hangar I was talking about is this one on the end. You'll probably be able to tell… no one's used it for a while, and all the others around it are occupied."

"Alright… thanks," Foxtrot replied, leaving the hangar first in order to give Clara more space to move. That, and he really didn't like being inside buildings, anyway.


	16. Chapter 15

Clara was swift to exit, but stopped as soon as she was out. Everything was sore. "I'm glad I didn't try flying…" she said, wincing.

"You're lucky you had the option. Most of the time They'll get planes flying within a few hours, if that." Foxtrot was quiet for a minute, aligning himself with what the map had shown as well as his immediate surroundings. There were a few planes resting under massive shade canopies, but none of them were paying much attention… something was off about this base, though. Something eerie. Perhaps it was the proportion of stealth fighters. "Come on, it's this way," he said quickly, turning to the left and heading towards what looked like residential hangars.

"Why? It's not like anybody seems to be doing anything," Clara pointed out, following Foxtrot stiffly down the road. "Why're we even here? There's not a jet like you... us... in sight."

"There's a Thunderchief over there. And… I think a Hellcat. If he's still in service." He could've sworn there was another plane… or, rather, one that looked somewhat unique in comparison to the others. Upon looking back, he was apparently mistaken. "This is a stealth base. Anything that's happening right now, we're probably not seeing. And their nightlife is pretty crazy."

Clara asked, "I know stealth planes are stealthy…" she said softly, "but how are they silent _and_ invisible?"

Foxtrot looked at her somewhat strangely. "They're not invisible. There's probably training going on or something." He paused for a moment, recalling which street they were supposed to go down before heading in that direction. "Just between you and me, they're not fun to cross paths with. For anyone," he said, keeping his voice low before changing the subject. "The hangar's gonna be that one over there."

"So avoid them?" Clara asked, only half paying attention. It seemed she was dazed.

"I would." He made his way over to the hangar he'd pointed out, opening the door. "But for now, we need to sleep." He blinked a couple times, almost confused. There was a distortion in his peripheral vision… but as soon as he noticed it, it went away again. Strange.

Clara followed him in, sighing heavily. "How did we get into this mess?" she asked rhetorically, "I'm not a fighter… I _am_ a racer."

"...you'll figure it out eventually. The government needs everyone to fight. There are other racers." He tried not to yawn, but did so anyways.

" _Foxtrot!"_ Clara snarled, shocked at his lack of compassion. "If _you_ had to do anything but follow orders and fight, what would you do? That's what you're _supposed to do._ Telling me I'll just 'figure it out'? You have no idea what it's like for me to give up my life's purpose! Where did _my_ Foxtrot go?"

"You're reminding me _exactly_ why I don't stay with the planes I recruit. I don't know how They do it, but they know who needs to be drafted. And they've never been wrong. The only difference between you and them is you had that propeller." He barely even shifted an aileron.

She glared at him with fire in her eyes and barely contained anger. There were no words to express her rage, but she would not attack. She would _not_ prove Foxtrot right. She _could_ not.

"I'm not trying to provoke you," he said, a little more inflection in his voice. "I'm just telling you the facts. No one likes them. We both need to sleep… it'll be easier to understand when you're not tired." Foxtrot was dropping off already, well aware that it was irresponsible of him to do so until after Clara had fallen asleep - he just couldn't stay awake anymore.

The plane continued to glare, hesitant to sleep. Obeying Foxtrot despite her hatred, she settled down lower on her landing gear. The day's events had worn her down considerably, but she knew sleep would be hard to come by. She was on full alert - her anger was not helping that situation.


	17. Chapter 16

The feigned peace ended not three hours later, the piercing screech of tires resounding through the base, followed shortly by a loud crash and shouting. Foxtrot jolted awake, half defensive and half panicked even if the commotion was a ways away. "What the heck…?"

"Foxtrot what _was_ that?" Clara yelped, startled awake same as the jet. "What's happening?"

"I don't know." He went to the door, opening it - daylight greeted him, making him wince slightly at the brightness. "But I'm gonna go see. You can come with if you want."

"Sure I will," she said, quickly maneuvering herself next to him.

 _Why wouldn't she_ , he thought to himself somewhat bitterly, careful not to express it. There was no reason to. He left the hangar, Clara close by… but something just wasn't right. The surrounding area was completely silent, with the exception of the commotion in the distance. Not even the cry of a balsa plane. He didn't dare break the silence for fear of making it more disturbing, allowing the soft whirring of the two planes' movement to fill the dead air instead.

And then they saw it. Or what was left. Foxtrot could've sworn he saw the disconnected arm of a forklift… the rest of the wreckage was blocked by the Thunderchief they saw earlier, along with several other aircraft. And there was still something happening within the hangar… arguing. Hopefully they arrested someone.

The culprit was brought outside. That same black plane. The one he thought he saw earlier. Except it was real, muttering something as it seemingly glitched in and out of existence, mixed fluids dripping off its nose and wing. A deep cut was visible at the base of one of its twin tails, a deliberate attempt at removing it. The Thunderchief confronted it and it immediately retaliated, copying his tone but with different words… electronic words… that were somehow still vaguely understandable. It enjoyed cursing. "...I'm just gonna _guess_ that guy's one of the experiments. We shouldn't be here," Foxtrot said quickly, trying to guide Clara away from the scene and back to their hangar.

"Just… wait a sec," she said, but both struck with a strange sense of vague recognition and an even deeper feeling of barely contained fear. The black plane was nobody she knew, but reminded her of someone, yet she couldn't place the face with the distortion around the aircraft. "Experiments?"

Foxtrot shrugged. "Heck if I know what they're for. And that one just _killed_ someone."

He'd said the last sentence too loudly - the black plane immediately paused, turning a little to look straight at them and then moving backwards slightly, its visor making its expression unreadable. It was trying to turn itself invisible again on top of that… though failing miserably.

The Thunderchief didn't seem to notice, already frustrated with the situation as it was… and almost saddened. "Go back to your hangar until I can figure out what to do with you," he ordered.

All it could do was nod a little, giving a heavily accented "Yessir" before leaving the crime scene, still covered in oil and whatever else had been inside its victim before they were murdered.

"Okay, Clara. Let's go back now," Foxtrot said hastily, looking even more uncomfortable with the situation than he was before.

She brought her eyes towards him, unnerved and afraid. "Okay."

Thankful, he turned around to head back to the hangar they'd came from. "...that plane was following us earlier… I don't know if you noticed or-" A high-pitched squeal silenced him. The black plane appeared from behind a building a little ways away, the small, lifeless form of an RC pigeon in its mouth. "...holy…"

The plane seemingly stared back at him, biting down even harder on the bird. It then headed down the road without so much as another thought.

That was it.

"HEY!" he called out, gesturing for Clara to stay back before quickly catching up to it, keeping pace with its speed. "What the heck is your problem? Neither of us did anything to you!"

No response. It didn't even stop.

"I want an answer. Now," he growled, falling back a little and smacking its obviously defunct tail with his nose. It spun a little on impact, its limited expression showing pure pain as it dropped its prey. Foxtrot gave it a minute to regain its bearings. "I don't think I need to repeat myself."

"You betrayed your wife," it snarled, its accent becoming even more prominent before dissolving into another language altogether. " _And she is still loyal to you. THAT is my problem, Foxtrot. Now let me follow my orders and go to my hangar._ "

He didn't know how he understood it. "No. Not yet. Who the heck are you?"

" _I answered the question. Let me go back to my hangar."_

He glared at the plane for a second, silently taking note of the numbers painted on its side. "Don't get anywhere near us again."

" _Traitor. I do not WANT to get anywhere near you."_ And with that, it picked up its bird and quickly drove away.

Foxtrot was quiet for a minute, hesitating before going back to where he'd told Clara to wait. "Hopefully that thing will back off now… but it knew both of us."

"Who was… it…" she asked, almost scared to.

"...wouldn't say. Does 2733-tango-whiskey sound familiar? That was its ID."

He voice caught in her throat. "2733 TW…" she whispered, and then went after where she'd last seen the plane going. "Tera!"

"Crap…" Foxtrot was forced to give chase, but stayed back a little out of fear. The black plane seemed to be actively avoiding Clara, so hopefully everything would be okay…

And then it wasn't. Tera practically threw the bird she was carrying off to the side of the road, turning around and letting her engines whine threateningly. " _GO AWAY,_ " she practically screamed, her strange language only making the words sound harsher.

Clara flinched back, but stood her ground in a surge of newfound courage. Her mind, once dull, was now racing. "No."

She growled a little, but instead of advancing she suddenly reversed, her control surfaces quivering slightly. The only sign of any emotion at all. "You should be on a carrier. Not here."

"I shouldn't even be on a carrier," she responded with a taut voice, "But if I had to be somewhere, I'd rather it be with my sister."

"No, you wouldn't." She grabbed the small RC she had been carrying, tossing it closer to Clara. " _Would you like a bird? You can share with your 'husband.' I would join but I was just confined to quarters for murder."_ And with that, she turned to leave.

Part of Clara wanted to follow Tera, but part of her was afraid to. She decided to follow the black aircraft, glancing back at Foxtrot before doing so. "Why did you kill him?" she asked abruptly, words catching some in her throat at the very idea.

"...I'd leave it alone if I were you…" Foxtrot moved to where Tera had thrown the bird, trying not to touch too much of it as he put it off to the side of the road.

" _It is none of your concern. It does not have to do with Foxtrot._ " Tera tried to activate her cloaking device again, but to no avail. " _Go away._ "

"I'm your sister," Clara said, a new harshness to her tone than before, "I'm not letting you go again. I'm _not_ losing you like I did Foxtrot."

The plane made a strange noise in stifled disgust. " _You should have thought of that when you tried to kill me for him. And look where you are now._ "

"Look where _you_ are now," Clara snarled, "You've done nothing but betray me since I got here. Now you're upset because I decided I'd go to the ends of the earth to help my _husband_ retrieve his memories? Some sister I have..."

She growled, baring her teeth threateningly. " _Stop calling me that. I am_ NOT _your sister. Maybe I SHOULD have betrayed you when I had the chance, but someone should check your system because I HAVE NOT. YOU are the reason I am here. I kept telling you they would do this, but you didn't listen. And then you go and allow YOURSELF to be recruited. You will never race again after what they just did to you. You are a drone. A lovesick drone. For nothing. YOUR Foxtrot died whenever they reset him."_ Foxtrot himself tensed at the comment, but Tera didn't care. That was the effect she wanted. If anything, it was the slightest bit amusing.

"You can't expect me to believe that," the other aircraft bristled, eyes narrowing. It was all she could to not to attack Tera… but memories from past events flashed through her mind's eye, and she refrained. "You can't believe that I just _gave up_ for Foxtrot. That I _betrayed_ you. I would never."

" _But_ _I WATCHED you submit-"_ she started, gritting her teeth in frustration. " _You are not listening because you do not like what I am saying. I was the same way._ " She froze for a second, possibly watching another stealth fighter in the distance… it had caught sight of the situation and was coming over to investigate. " _I have to go. They are going to catch me if I do not go to my hangar."_

"Fine," Clara hissed between her teeth. "Go."

" _Thanks. Oh, and some advice you could probably use. Drop your tail when you take off, unless you want to run into the dust pit at the end of the runway. Loads of fun for your air intakes._ " And with that, she turned back to continue on her path, eager to get out of there as the other stealth fighter drew closer.

Foxtrot quickly gave it space, weary to begin with. When it got within the vicinity, however, it went straight to the dead bird on the side of the road. It nudged it a few times, and, upon concluding the obvious, he quickly looked to see Tera entering a building close to the end of the road. It let out a low growl. "If They do not deactivate that plane, then I will."

"...what?"

"This bird was my _pet_. She was told not to touch him."

"Isn't that why they don't allow pets?" Foxtrot asked, confused.

The stealth fighter - Foxtrot identified it as a Nighthawk - slammed its wing into his, quickly but gently picking up the carcass before leaving, not saying another word. Foxtrot was left reeling, trying to ignore the sudden injury and moving a little closer to Clara. "...I'm not even going to pretend I know what was going on."

"You're hurt…" Clara said, glancing worriedly at Foxtrot's wing. It was too much to process anything else. It was as if every computer on board was broken, or lacking information. Nothing made sense.

He sighed, wincing a little at the mention. "I'm fine."

"No, you're not…" she argued, choosing to focus on the task of getting Foxtrot to a mechanic instead of sorting out the massive amount of confusion and disorientation she had swimming in her mind. "Your wing is dented."

"I said I'm fine," he snapped. "It's not an emergency. I'm fine."

Clara cast her eyes downwards, but as soon as she did so her mind began swimming in questions once more. She shut her eyes tight, almost groaning as she was sapped of mental strength.

Foxtrot softened, more confused than anything. Something was wrong. "Clara…? Do you need to go back?" he said, gently nudging her a little.

"...think so…" she managed to choke out, leaning into Foxtrot's touch. She was beyond confused, and all she wanted was to be back in Propwash in a time where everything was normal. A time where there wasn't such things as wiped memories and military bases set on kidnapping innocent planes.

 **Oneshot to follow. May be one or two additional chapters - it's fairly long and might do better separated into two distinct parts.**


	18. Snap

The test flight failed. Again. Tony carefully inspected the diagrams on the large-screened computer, doing every type of computation he could to figure out what was going wrong… but they kept pointing to the same issue.

A presence cast a shadow over the screen, the forklift practically jumping in surprise at the sudden company. "You need a bell or something."

" _What are you looking at?_ "

He rolled his eyes. "You're plenty stealthy on the ground, but the radar still sees you. We discussed this."

" _And?_ "

" _And_ nothing has changed," he said, frustrated. "It's your tails. I hope you understand that. It doesn't matter how many tests I run, it's still the same problem."

The plane reversed slightly. " _You said you would not._ "

"I said I'd _try_ not to… but I think I'm gonna have to remove them, Tera. I've tried everything else."

Even behind the visor, her opinion was obvious. " _No._ "

He wasn't getting a fight this time. "Not an option. Go over there."

She was silent for a second. " _Yessir._ " And she did as she was told, sheepishly rolling over to the corner of the hangar she was directed to, Tony following and setting up his cutting torch, along with other things he was fairly sure Tera didn't want to know what they did.

"...it's so much easier now that you're listening for a change."

" _You are taking away 73% of my maneuverability."_ She winced as she felt the heat at the base of one of her vertical stabilizers.

"If you have to choose between air tricks and stealth, you should always choose stealth. Sometimes you have to sacrifice for the greater good."

" _I cannot have fun anymore._ "

"Having fun isn't part of your job. You're a machine designed to avoid radar at any cost."

She was quiet, trying to distract herself from what was happening. " _Is Clara here?_ "

Tony didn't reply.

" _I followed them back to their temporary hangar._ " She had to pause, trying to find the right words. " _You drafted her._ "

She felt a sudden jolt in the path of the torch. "That's none of your business."

" _Neither is enemy intel. And you are trying to keep her away from me so I would not know._ " She shifted slightly, her flaps assuming a defensive configuration as she felt a pinch of sorts - Tony had clipped some of the wires leading to her tail. " _Are you the enemy?"_

"Do I need to restrain you?"

" _Unnecessary."_ Tera grinned for the first time in months, turning around to pin the forklift before he'd even gotten off the ramp. " _I have reason to use deadly force. Traitor._ "

The fear in Tony's eyes was tangible… or, at least, it was to her. Almost like sneaking up on a bird, she mused. She didn't even give him a chance to respond before she threw him against the back wall, tearing one of his arms off in the process. Hydraulic fluid splattered everywhere. He'd be immobile soon enough.

"They'll deactivate you for this. You ever think of _that?_ " Tony growled, knowing that all the noise would have to alert _someone_.

The plane giggled, a sickening distortion of what her voice once was, and she ended him.

xXx

 _System restarting_.

Tony instinctively gasped, tensing at an unseen threat.

A friendly chortle greeted him. " I'm a genius! You almost had me, but rebuilding you wasn't as bad as I thought. Just don't do it again. I can't be leaving in the middle of fire season 'cuz _you_ screwed up."

It took him a minute to regain his bearings, still in the midst of panic. He was in the repair hangar… which looked like it'd seen better days. All his tools were scattered, some even on the ground. And there was unfamiliar music playing. Music as a whole was just distracting.

Eventually, he realized there was no one else in the hangar… except another forklift. One he hadn't seen in a long time. "M-Maru?"

"The one and only."

"What? But… she was right there…"

"That was two weeks ago."

"Two _weeks?_ "

The mechanic shrugged. "You're gonna hate me when I turn your pain receptors back on, but at least you're not a pile of scrap."

Maru's previous sentence finally clicked. Tony had been rebuilt. But it didn't make sense. "Black boxes don't last…"

"So answer me this: how are you alive right now?" Maru asked, grabbing a wrench and checking something in Tony's engine compartment. He was still hooked up to some kind of machine, which only made him question everything more.

"...I haven't used this setup since I built Tera… this is an AI life support-" he paused, the gravity of the situation beginning to weigh on him. "But I'm human! You converted me!"

"Ha! That conditioning _really_ stuck, didn't it? You're on a system used _exclusively_ for AI and you still think you're human!"

"No. That's not right. You're just messing with me."

"Would I _really_ mess with you like that? You got yourself killed by your own project and I just pulled your bumper out of permanent shutdown. Do you _think_ I'd try to confuse you after all that?"

His motor choked, even if he hadn't started it yet. "No, you _wouldn't_ -" he froze, realizing what had just happened. AI-speak. _He'd_ used AI-speak.

"Still think you're human? I could make you talk like that all the time if you need more proof," he could hear the smirk on Maru's face as he said the last sentence.

Tony growled. " _NO._ I get it."

"Good. Now we can talk about other things. You weren't the first patient I had to deal with when I got here."

He winced on instinct. "Tera…?"

"I don't mess with other peoples' projects. We'll talk about _her_ later, but I'm setting ground rules for Alpha now."

Crap. "...I can explain…"

"6 _straight days_ of recoding is explanation enough. _That's_ how long it took to fix all that crap you put in his system. Not to mention the glitch in his eyes that you covered with a _blackout visor_ instead of fixing." The rage was tangible, even if the forklift had managed to keep his voice terrifyingly restrained. "He is NOT your project to be exploited. I _thought_ you and him could be something like friends. Actually, technically you're _brothers_ , but you went and blew that. So from now on, don't even _look_ at him without his agreement. And don't even think about messing with his coding. That should go for _anyone."_

Tony just stared straight ahead, knowing he didn't have much defense. Talking would make it worse.

"Actually, that reminds me. I should probably figure out what the heck _is_ going on with you. Something's off with your coding since you're pullin' crap like that."

"Don't… please don't… I understand, I won't test anything on Alpha again, _PLEASE_ -" he pleaded, watching in horror as Maru went over to the main screen of the machine.

But instead, the mechanic chuckled. " _That time_ , I was joking. Didn't like that?"

Tony sighed. "No."

"I think we're on the same level now."

"...Y-yeah… we are."

"So. Your project."

"Tera?"

"I don't need to tell you how bad your conduct has been with her. Unless you'd like me rebuilding you again with your pain receptors _on_."

Again, he winced. "...what do you want me to do about it?"

"It's not what you're gonna do, it's what _I'm_ gonna do. I'm gonna talk to the head of this base and see if he still wants her in full service."

" _What?!_ No… she wasn't designed for that… she's an experimental-"

" _Experimental?_ Ha! She was hellbent on killing you! And have you seen the trashed birds all over the place? _That_ is a warplane if I ever saw one. Oh, and that reminds me. You're not head mechanic anymore. They'll place someone else here in a couple days. And you better listen."

Tony fell silent. He was glad for the quiet Maru allowed to fill the room, even if just for a minute.

"I'm gonna leave you to think on it." Maru went back over to the main console, flipping a switch before he left. Tony immediately lost any sort of breath he had, writhing in pain from the new repairs.

He didn't know he had the ability to cry until then.


End file.
